Pratt regarded him fixedly. "I'm not sure I like your programme, my friend. I've been thinking it over lately, and I've just about come to the conclusion that you'd better not issue that challenge."
"Why not?"
Pratt snapped like a peevish bull-dog. "Because I don't want it done—that's all the reason you need. I've never made any concessions to reach these damn scientists, and I don't intend to begin now. You are planning to involve us in a whole lot of noise and sensation, and I don't like it. Furthermore, I don't intend to submit to it."
Clarke was too irritable to take this quietly, and his eyes blazed. "You're very sensitive all at once. When did you reach this new point of view?"
"Never you mind about that; I've reached it, and I intend to maintain it. Why, you simple-minded jackass, these scientists will eat you up. They'll make a monkey of me and disgrace the girl. They'll pretend to expose her—the press will be on their side—and I will be made the butt of all their slurring gibes. I won't have it!"
"You're too nervous about the press," replied Clarke, loftily. "You're all wrong about the papers. They'll take a malicious joy in girding at the scientists as 'the men who know it all.' They'll have their fling at us, of course, but it won't hurt."
"Oh, it won't! Well, it may not hurt you—it's a fine stroke of advertising for you—but I don't need that kind of publicity. That's settled! Now, about this man Serviss"—he turned to Mrs. Lambert—"is he married?"
"No."
"I thought not. How long has he known Viola?"
"It's nearly two years since he came to Colorow; but he has only seen her a few times—"