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With firm, quick hand he wrenched open the doors. He put his hand upon
what he knew to be the tube. He pulled it out, turned around to the light
and held it up between him and the window. For one moment he looked
away;--how parched his mouth was! And then, a mighty will turning his
eyes upon it, in one long gaze he read the plain, unmistakable,
unalterable truth. He had never seen a better culture. Science would
perhaps commit itself no further than to say his eyes had become
inoculated with the most virulent germ known to pathology. But out beyond
the efforts which would be made to save him, he read--written large--the
truth.
He was going blind.


CHAPTER XVI

"GOOD LUCK, BEASON!"
Minutes passed and nothing happened. There was no sound of splintering
glass. The tube did not fall from his hands. Not so much as gasp or groan
broke the stillness of the laboratory. He did not seem to have moved even
the muscle of a finger.
He faced it. He understood it. He faced it and understood it as he had no
other truth in all his life.


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