He saw what was to him a most unusual sight in that quiet, lonely work-room. He was surprised into an exclamation of great pleasure, and he quickened his pace until he stood between his sons. Graham got up and put on a nervous, polite smile. "This's what I most wanted," said the Doctor,—"my two boys waiting for me here in this room. I can't tell you—I can't tell you, Peter, and Graham, how often, how strongly, how eagerly I've wished to see you where you are now. I can't tell you how I've longed to have you here after my meetings, to tell you how I'm getting on, moving things forward, and to ask you share in my successes. My dear Peter—my dear Graham."
It was pitiful. The strange, almost incoherent outbreak of the shy man nearly made Peter burst into tears. He would almost rather his father had treated them coldly and with raised eyebrows. His present attitude—his unhidden joy—his eager, and even wistful welcome, had in it something of tragedy, because it showed all the waste of years during which the sympathy and the complete, necessary and beautiful understanding of these three might have been welded into one great, insurmountable rock.
The Doctor, with an obvious desire to play host,—an intuition which again touched Peter deeply,—went quickly to a little chest which stood in a corner of the room. "What will you have?" he asked anxiously. "I've got a very good cigar here, or cigarettes if you would like them better. Let me see! What do you smoke, Peter?"
"He doesn't even know what I smoke," thought Peter. "A pipe," he said.
"Oh, yes, yes! Well, this is generally said to be a very good mixture. Try some." He gave a jar of tobacco to Peter. "These are nice, though perhaps they are a little too dry." And he extended a box of cigars to Graham.
The boy helped himself, trying to keep his hand steady. "Thank you," he said.
"And now," said the Doctor, "let's sit down and have a long yarn. Shall we? I would like to tell you about to-night. The meeting was of vital interest and importance." He drew his chair forward so that it might be between those of the two boys. He looked from Peter's face to Graham's as though afraid that he was asking too great a favour. "You—you'll forgive my talking about myself, I'm sure—at least I hope you will. I so seldom have the opportunity,—with those I love, I mean—with those for whom I'm working. To see you here like this, at last, makes me very happy." He slipped his large glasses off and wiped them openly without attempting to hide the fact that they had become suddenly useless to him.
A short silence followed—a silence in which the emotion with which the room was charged could almost be heard. Peter threw a quick glance round it, almost as though he expected to see the curious experimental tubes turn and point accusingly at his brother. The laboratory was filled with such tubes and other curious instruments,—all of them silent witnesses of Graham's act of madness.
The Doctor re-lit his cigar, put his glasses on again and clasped his long, capable hands over one thin knee. "I wish I could even suggest to you," he said—more naturally and with keen enthusiasm—"the intense excitement that we bacteriologists are all beginning to feel. For years and years we've been experimenting, and little by little our work is coming to a definite head. Every time we meet we find that we've moved a step further on the road to discoveries. It makes me laugh to think that my early theories, which, only a few years ago, were scoffed at and looked upon as dreams, are taking shape. It's been a long, uphill fight. Science is beginning to win. It's all very wonderful." He noticed that Graham's cigar had gone out. With extreme politeness, such as a man would use to very welcome guests, he held out a box of matches.
The boy took it. "I don't feel like smoking," he said, with a catch in his voice.