"So——" he said. "It has lost its savor."
"Do you think we can change things, by criticism, or suggestion? Won't all these schools go on in their own way?"
Dr. Roberts sat on the edge of the table, one neat toe pushed against the floor to balance himself, one swinging.
"I'm glad this came up now, instead of somewhere in Ohio," he said. "I suppose we all have hours of wondering what it amounts to, all these mahogany desks and busy people." He brought his fist down emphatically. "But I tell you, something must come of studies like this! Institutions have gone on long enough, nosing along with blind snouts in old ruts. The day has come when intellect, intelligence can step in and say, 'here, that's the wrong path. You're going that way only because it is an old path. Here's the better way.' Conscious, intelligent control. That's the coming idea."
"But can a blind snout open its eyes?" Catherine was intent, serious. "Can you change things? That way?"
"See what Flexner's study of medical schools did for them! Even Smithson's few papers on sanitation have had an ordinance or two as a result. Where does all that agitation about child labor in the South come from, if not from investigation?"
"You see—" Catherine looked down at the pink blotch of Ohio, under the firm, square forefinger. "I must believe in what I'm doing. I can't just do it to earn a living."
"Naturally. I understand that."
"The work I did during the war was obviously of use. The plans for reeducation were fairly snatched out of our hands before the ink was dry on them."
"Yes. An immediate need like that is, as you say, obvious. Easy to believe in. Like baking bread for hungry people."