“You are right, Paul,” returned Dr. Barnhelm, rising. “A cigar, a drink, and a game of chess, they are a better prescription for a tired man than a new philosophy.”
He rang the bell and asked Maria for whiskey and a syphon, and as she went for it he took from a little wooden box a shabby, worn old set of chessmen.
“A talk over old times will freshen my mind for my ordeal to-morrow, for it is to be an ordeal, Paul. My theory of restoring the muscular activity to the heart after death has occurred is admitted to be practical, in fact successful. Laboratory experiments upon animals are within the experience of most of the big men whom I am to face to-morrow. They are ready to admit my theory, but they must be convinced against their will of my ability to always restore life under all conditions where death has resulted simply from the failure of the heart to perform its functions and where there has been no organic decay. They laugh at my claim that I can succeed in performing this experiment after as great a time as five hours from the moment of the last heart beat, and it seems to be the general opinion that five minutes would be a more conservative and a more exact statement.”
“It is a very pleasant thing,” commented Paul. “This laughter of fools. In all ages it has been granted to some lucky few, this great distinction, to be laughed at and to be right. You are in good company, Martin. The same sort of persons once laughed at Watts, at Columbus, at Darwin, at Dr. Bell, and at Marconi. Noah was, I believe, the first object of popular ridicule, but that did not affect the value of the Ark when the flood came. Come, we will forget all of this until the time comes, and I will beat you at a game of chess. Unless my memory plays me tricks, I won the last game, all of twenty years ago, and I can do it again.”
Maria entered the room with a tray, on which were a bottle of whiskey, carbonic water and glasses, and put it down on the table as Dr. Barnhelm took out a thick pocketbook from his inside pocket and said, “First, I will put this money away until to-morrow.”
He crossed the room to a small safe that was set into the wall and hidden from sight by a picture. “Can you open this thing, Maria?”
“I think so, sir,” replied Maria, going to the safe at once and turning the combination. “Miss Lola taught me how, if I can remember.”
After a moment’s effort the small door of the safe opened, and she said, with evident relief, “There!”
“Good!” exclaimed the Doctor, as he placed the pocketbook in the safe and closed and locked it.
“Thank you, Maria, and, Maria, ask Miss Lola to come to us when she is ready.”