"Survive the shock? You forget that we—here—are all scientists. I won't press you."
"Perhaps," Hugo heard himself saying, "I'd like to tell you."
"In that case—in my room—to-night. I should like to hear."
That night, after a day of indecision, Hugo sat in a dim light and poured out the story of his life. Hardin never interrupted, never commented, until the end. Then he said softly: "You poor devil. Oh, you poor bastard." And Hugo saw that he was weeping. He tried to laugh.
"It isn't as bad as that—Dan."
"Son"—his voice choked with emotion—"this thing—this is my life-work. This is why you came to my office last winter. This is—the most important thing on earth. What a story! What a man you are!"
"On the contrary—"
"Don't be modest. I know. I feel. I understand."
Hugo's head shook sadly. "Perhaps not. You can see—I have tried everything. In itself, it is great. I can see that. It is, objectively, the most important thing on earth. But the other way—What can I do? Tell me that. You cannot tell me. I can destroy. As nothing that ever came before or will come again, I can destroy. But destruction—as I believe, as you believe—is at best only a step toward re-creation. And what can I make afterwards? Think. Think, man! Rack your brains! What?" His hands clenched and unclenched. "I can build great halls and palaces. Futile! I can make bridges. I can rip open mountains and take out the gold. I am that strong. It is as if my metabolism was atomic instead of molecular. But what of it? Stretch your imagination to its uttermost limits—and what can I do that is more than an affair of petty profit to myself? Mankind has already extended its senses and its muscles to their tenth powers. He can already command engines to do what I can do. It is not necessary that he become an engine himself. It is preposterous that he should think of it—even to transcend his engines. I defy you, I defy you with all my strength, to think of what I can do to justify myself!"
The words had been wrung from Hugo. Perspiration trickled down his face. He bit his lips to check himself. The older man was grave. "All your emotions, your reflections, your yearnings and passions, come—to that. And yet—"