Suddenly, as I went back to my bath and plunged into the cool water, my mind returned to Melbourne. I had been walking home with him that night from the Club—perhaps last night. We had gone on a while in silence, both of us thinking. Then we had come to the Drive. At that moment Melbourne had said something—what was it?
He had said, "Tell me, Mr. Barrett, would you care to see that dream of yours come true?"
The Chamber of Life
I didn't know what Melbourne meant, and I looked at him inquiringly.
He explained: "I have in my home a model—or rather a complete test-apparatus. It was finished only a few days ago. I have been postponing my trial of it from day to day, afraid that it might be a failure—although, of course, it can't be. I have verified my work dozens of times, step by step.
"If you care to see it, I should be glad to have you come with me. Now that I have reached the end of my search, I need someone to share my triumph with me." I glanced at him eagerly, but hardly understanding that his offer was serious.
"But, Mr. Melbourne," I said, "why have you chosen me—a man you've only met this evening?" He smiled.
"I am a lonely man, almost a recluse, Mr. Barrett," he answered. "I have many friends in many countries—but no intimates. It is the penalty of a man's devotion to one single and absorbing task. And, too, I think you share a little of my interest in this particular task."
"I do, sir! It has fascinated me," I said.