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He did it all very
carefully, very exactly, just as he always did. Then he put the tuft of
cotton over the top and placed the tube in that strange-looking box
commonly called a culture oven. In twenty-four hours he would know the
truth. He adjusted the gas with a firm hand, arranging with his usual
precision this thing which outwardly was like any of his experiments and
which in reality--but he would not go into that.
Now for an oculist. His eyes were hurting badly; it was time to do
whatever there was to be done. After all he was rather jumping at
conclusions. There was a big chance that this was just something
characteristic to eyes and had no relation to the things of his work. He
seized upon that, ridiculing himself for having looked right over the
most simple and natural explanation of all. Did not a great many people
have trouble with their eyes?
That nerved him up all the way down town. He was almost ready to think it
a great joke, the way he had hurried over to the laboratory and had gone
at it in that life-and-death fashion.


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