CAPTAIN. Oh, I beg of you. The duties of service do not allow me to make any very profound investigations, but I believe I am now really on the track of a discovery.
DOCTOR. Indeed?
CAPTAIN. You see, I have submitted meteoric stones to spectrum analysis, with the result that I have found carbon, that, is to say, a clear trace of organic life. What do you say to that?
DOCTOR. Can you see that with it microscope?
CAPTAIN. Lord, no—with the spectroscope.
DOCTOR. The spectroscope! Pardon. Then you will soon be able to tell us what is happening on Jupiter.
CAPTAIN. Not what is happening, but what has happened. If only the confounded booksellers in Paris would send me the books; but I believe all the booksellers in the universe have conspired against me. Think of it, for the last two months not a single one has ever answered my communications, neither letters nor abusive telegrams. I shall go mad over it, and I can't imagine what's the matter.
DOCTOR. Oh, I suppose it's the usual carelessness; you mustn't let it vex you so.
CAPTAIN. But the devil of it is I shall not get my treatise done in time, and I know they are working along the same lines in Berlin. But we shouldn't be talking about this—but about you. If you care to live here we have rooms for you in the wing, or perhaps you would rather live in the old quarters?
DOCTOR. Just as you like.