“At last!” he greeted. “At last! I was sure we could not fail. This, my dear Dr. Avec, is the greatest day since Columbus.”
The other took the hand.
“So this is the great Dr. Holcomb. Yes, indeed, it is a great day; though I know nothing about your Columbus. So far it has been simply wonderful. I can scarcely credit my senses. So near and yet so far. How can it be? A dream? Are you sure, Dr. Holcomb?”
“My dear Rhamda, I am sure that I am the happiest man that ever lived. It is the culmination. I was certain we could not fail; though, of course, to me also it is an almost impossible climax of fact. I should never have succeeded without your assistance.”
The other smiled.
“That was of small account, my dear doctor. To yourself must go the credit; to me the pleasure. Take your sun, for instance, I—but I have not the language to tell you.”
But the doctor had gone in to abstraction.
“A great day,” he was beaming. “A great day! What will the world say? It is proved.” Then suddenly: “You have eaten?”
“Not yet. You must allow me a bit of time. I thought of it; but I had not quite the courage to venture.”
“Then we shall eat,” said the other man. “Afterward we shall go up to the lecture-room. Today I shall deliver my lecture on the Blind Spot. And when I am through you shall deliver the words that will astonish the world.”