The doctor's glasses fell off with a click, and then hung, swinging, from their thick black cord. When their oscillation had all ended,—
"What has started up your curiosity just now, Reed?"
"Signs of the times, I suppose," Reed answered crisply. "What's more, doctor, I don't quite like them."
Bending forward, the doctor laid a steady hand upon the lean wrist beside him. As he had supposed, the pulse was leaping with a furious unsteadiness.
"Who taught a mere engineer like you to read the signs?" he demanded.
The pulse raced a little faster. Then Reed replied,—
"My inherent common sense."
"Your inherent self-conceit, you'd better say," the doctor retorted curtly. "What's more, you lay awake to read them? Three quarters of the night? Yes? I thought so. Next time, though, I'll trouble you to let your signs alone. You've got to learn their alphabet straight, before you go to work to get much meaning out of them. Anyway, they are my care, not yours." Then, as the pulse steadied down a little, the doctor spoke more gently. "Boy, what is it that you need to know?"
Under the strong, heedful fingers, the pulse gave one great leap, stopped, then fell to pounding madly. Meanwhile, there came a tightening of Opdyke's lips. Then he said, with a voice devoid of any intonation,—
"Doctor, I think it has come to where I need to know the outcome of all this."