Martin mourned, “Oh, I’ll go back to work. Nothing else to do. I guess Tubbs’ll chuck the new department now. I’ll have time to really finish my research—maybe I’ve got some points that D’Hérelle hasn’t hit on—and I’ll publish it to corroborate him.... Damn him!... Where is his report?... I suppose you’re glad that I’m saved from being a Holabird.”
“I ought to be. It is a sin against my religion that I am not. But I am getting old. And you are my friend. I am sorry you are not to have the fun of being pretentious and successful—for a while.... Martin, it iss nice that you will corroborate D’Hérelle. That is science: to work and not to care—too much—if somebody else gets the credit.... Shall I tell Tubbs about D’Hérelle’s priority, or will you?”
Gottlieb straggled away, looking back a little sadly.
Tubbs came in to wail, “If you had only published earlier, as I told you, Dr. Arrowsmith! You have really put me in a most embarrassing position before the Board of Trustees. Of course there can be no question now of a new department.”
“Yes,” said Martin vacantly.
He carefully filed away the beginnings of his paper and turned to his bench. He stared at a shining flask till it fascinated him like a crystal ball. He pondered:
“Wouldn’t have been so bad if Tubbs had let me alone. Damn these old men, damn these Men of Measured Merriment, these Important Men that come and offer you honors. Money. Decorations. Titles. Want to make you windy with authority. Honors! If you get ’em, you become pompous, and then when you’re used to ’em, if you lose ’em you feel foolish.
“So I’m not going to be rich. Leora, poor kid, she won’t have her new dresses and flat and everything. We— Won’t be so much fun in the lil old flat, now. Oh, quit whining!
“I wish Terry were here.
“I love that man Gottlieb. He might have gloated—