No one on the ship thought of bed. The passengers, crowded into the salon, watched the calm starlit night, listened to the thunder of the engines, and talked. At twelve the myriad lights of Cleveland appeared, crossed and recrossed below them, like chains of diamonds and fire opals. Searchlights caught and held them, a dozen airplanes darted up and played about them. Then the calm and the darkness again.
“Beautiful! Beautiful!” said Doctor Trigg, as he watched the twinkling light-jewels disappear, and the planes turn back.
“Um!” said Doctor Sims. “Trigg, I can’t just see the advisability of this Leland Stanford affair. Is the salary larger?”
“Why, I’d forgotten it,” said Doctor Trigg. “Yes, they pay very generously.”
“So does Princeton,” said Doctor Sims, loyally.
“Of course; of course! Well, I haven’t made up my mind.”
“Well, I can’t advise for it,” repeated Doctor Sims. He cleared his throat, and said rather forlornly, “Fact is, Trigg, I’d miss you. I—I—actually can’t see it, Trigg.”
Doctor Trigg turned and regarded the gnarled and puckered old face. To him it looked a fine and open countenance, sincere and true. He patted the thin shoulder.
“Old friend,” he said, “if I go, you go. Did you think for a minute that I could leave my old friend after forty years? No, no! I couldn’t get along without you.”
Doctor Sims groped for the other’s hand, and shook it hard. A look of relief filled his face.