Atkinson, the surgeon, was one of the circle, and had sat silently listening. Now he spoke.
“I think the learned bodies should find more time for the consideration of psychic matters.”
“Less,” said Polter.
“You can’t have less than nothing. They ignore them altogether. Some time ago I had a series of cases of telepathic rapport which I wished to lay before the Royal Society. My colleague Wilson, the zoologist, also had a paper which he proposed to read. They went in together. His was accepted and mine rejected. The title of his paper was ‘The Reproductive System of the Dung-Beetle.’”
There was a general laugh.
“Quite right, too,” said Polter. “The humble dung-beetle was at least a fact. All this psychic stuff is not.”
“No doubt you have good grounds for your views,” chirped the mischievous Millworthy, a mild youth with a velvety manner. “I have little time for solid reading, so I should like to ask you which of Dr. Crawford’s three books you consider the best?”
“I never heard of the fellow.”
Millworthy simulated intense surprise.
“Good Heavens, man! Why, he is the authority. If you want pure laboratory experiments those are the books. You might as well lay down the law about zoology and confess that you had never heard of Darwin.”