“But, after all,” he said at last, with an awkward movement towards his spectroscope, “that does signify something.”
“The comet?”
“Yes.”
“What can it signify? You don’t want me to believe in astrology. What does it matter what flames in the heavens—when men are starving on earth?”
“It’s—it’s science.”
“Science! What we want now is socialism—not science.”
He still seemed reluctant to give up his comet.
“Socialism’s all right,” he said, “but if that thing up there was to hit the earth it might matter.”
“Nothing matters but human beings.”
“Suppose it killed them all.”