Sir George looked up at him with a friendly, half-quizzical twinkle in his eye.
"You needn't apologize, my boy," he said gravely. "I don't think any one would accuse you of having a swelled head." He paused. "If it doesn't sound an impertinent question, may I ask how you are situated with regard to money matters?"
"I can manage all right," replied the other. "I've got a small private income of about three hundred a year. I should have to give up the car, of course, but one can't expect luxuries if one goes in for laboratory work."
Sir George nodded his head approvingly.
"That's the proper frame of mind, anyhow," he observed. "There's no half-and-half business about science. It's a great game if you're prepared to give up everything else to it, but if you want money and comfort and reputation—well, you'd better copy my example and spend your time cutting out the entrails of over-fed millionaires." He flicked the ash off his cigarette, and, sinking back again in the chair, crossed his legs. "All the same," he added, "it just happens that I might be able to put something in your way which would make it possible for you to keep the car and hunt bugs at the same time."
Gray's boyish face lit up with sudden interest.
"By Jove, sir!" he exclaimed. "That sounds promising!"
"How would you like to go and live with old Carter as a sort of residential assistant?"
"Carter?" Gray repeated the name almost reverently. "Do you mean Professor Carter?"
"Of course I do. You don't suppose I'm referring to the man who makes the liver pills?"