During that period there was of course room for argument and speculation about it, and even a certain amount of humor. Had Adam's right front leg, at the moment of achieving meaningful speech, suffered a nervous breakdown? What would a psychiatrist have to say about a white rat that had a nervous breakdown in its right front leg?
"The worst part about it," Dr. MacNare said to his wife, "is that if he fails to make it he'll have to be killed. He can't have permanent frustration forced onto him, and, by now, returning him to his natural state would be even worse."
"And he has such a stout little heart," Alice said. "Sometimes when he looks at me I'm sure he knows what is happening and he wants me to know he's trying."
When they went to bed that night they were more discouraged than they had ever been.
Eventually they slept. When the alarm went off, Alice slipped into her robe and went into the study first, as she always did.
A moment later she was back in the bedroom, shaking her husband's shoulder.
"Joe!" she whispered. "Wake up! Come into the study!"
He leaped out of bed and rushed past her. She caught up with him and pulled him to a stop.
"Take it easy, Joe," she said. "Don't alarm him."
"Oh." Dr. MacNare relaxed. "I thought something had happened."