He laughed. “Great. Well, keep at it. It's your funeral, Harry. When you have found, it let me know and I'll beat you to the patent.”
With that he turned to his desk and dug into one of his everlasting formulas. Just the same, next day when I entered Holcomb's lecture-room I was in for a surprise. My husky room-mate was in the seat beside me.
“What's the big idea?” I asked. “Big idea is right, Harry,” he grinned. “Just thought I would beat you to it. Had a dickens of a time with Dan Clark, of the engineering department. Told him I wanted to study philosophy. The old boy put up a beautiful holler. Couldn't understand what an engineer would want with psychology or ethics. Neither could I until I got to thinking last night when I went to roost. Because a thing has never been done is no reason why it never will be; is it, Harry?”
“Certainly not. I don't know just what you are driving at. Perhaps you intend to take your notes over to the machine shop and hammer out the Secret of the Absolute.”
He grinned.
“Pretty wise head at that, Harry. What did you call it? The Secret of the Absolute. Will remember that. I'm not much on phrases; but I'm sure the strong boy with the hammer. You don't object to my sitting here beside you; so that I, too, may drink in the little drops of wisdom?”
It was in this way that Hobart entered into the study of philosophy. When the class was over and we were going down the steps he patted me on the shoulder.
“That's not so bad, Harry. Not so bad. The old doctor is there; he's got them going. Likewise little Hobart has got a big idea.”
Now it happened that this was just about six weeks before Dr. Holcomb announced his great lecture on the Blind Spot. It was not more than a week after registration. In the time ensuing Fenton became just as great an enthusiast as myself. His idea, of course, was chimerical and a blind; his main purpose was to get in with me where he could argue me out of my folly.
He wound up by being a convert of the professor.