“I’ll start now.” She had to set her teeth to make this resolve.
“Very good; that is my wish.”
He was still addressing her as though she were a public meeting. Rising from his chair, he opened the little door and she went into a smaller room. She had seen laboratories, but none quite so beautifully fitted as this—shelf upon shelf of white porcelain jars, of cut-glass bottles, their contents engraved in frosted letters; a bench that ran the length of the room, on which apparatus of every kind was arranged in order. In the centre of the room ran a long, glass-topped table, and here, in dustproof glass, were delicate instruments, ranging from scales which she knew could be influenced by a grain of dust, to electrical machines, so complicated that her heart sank at the sight of them.
“What must I do?” she asked dismally.
Everything was so beautifully new; she was sure she would drop one of those lovely jars . . . all the science of the school laboratory had suddenly drained out of her mind, leaving it a blank.
“You will do.” Remarkably enough, the doctor for the moment seemed as much at a loss as the girl. “First—quantities. In every jar or bottle there is a quantity. How much? Who knows? The last secretary was careless, stupid. She kept no book. Sometimes I go for something—it is not there! All gone. That is very regrettable.”
“You wish me to take stock?” she asked, her hopes reviving at the simplicity of her task.
There were measures and scales enough. The latter stood in a line like a platoon of soldiers ranged according to their size. Everything was very new, very neat. There was a smell of drying enamel in the room as though the place had been newly painted.
“That is all,” said the long-faced man.
He put his hand in the pocket of his frock-coat and took out a large wallet. From this he withdrew two crisp notes.