“Yes, it is so. I know it. I have thought a way out,” said Octave, answering his depressed look. “I came in here to make you promise that you would try it.”
“I shall never try any more experiments after that experience.”
“Not with babies, of course. With a man of science you would.”
“How am I to meet a man of science, here on Deer Hill Mountain, and I a—cripple?” demanded the other, bitterly.
“Two ways are open: one, the poorest, by correspondence; the other I can help you to if you will trust me.”
“You?” said Melville; and, in his sincere liking for Octave, he tried not say it contemptuously.
“Yes—I, young lord of creation; you think I don’t know anything, don’t you? Well, I don’t, much, and it doesn’t matter, as long as I know enough to answer your purpose, and besides have the tremendous honor to be your—cousin! However, I can yet do things to further your ideas. If I bring you this man of science will you talk with him, or will you be cantankerous? Mind you, I don’t do it just for you—but for the good of the world at large. I’m a philanthropist, in general. I always felt that I was ‘cut out’ for something unusual; but I didn’t dream it was to be scientific till I became your assistant. Say, will you?”
“You don’t know any man of science; and—he would laugh at my ‘cheek.’”
“All right. I’ve always sighed for adventure, and now I shall have it. I feel like a conspirator—and it’s a perfectly exquisite sensation. Hurrah!”
“Octave Pickel! Are you crazy?”