But
with him, the work which made his life was gone.
Over there was the university. It had been a busy day at the
university--old faces and new faces, all the exuberance of a new start,
the enthusiasm for a clean slate--students anxious to make some
particular class--how well he knew it all! Who was in his laboratory? Who
working with his old things? To whom was coming the joy he had thought
would be his? What man of all the world's men would achieve the things he
had believed would crown his own life?
Some day Ernestine would read it to him. He had made her promise to do
that, if it came. He would see it all--just how it had been worked out,
and the momentary joy of the revelation would sweep him back into it and
he would forget how completely it was a thing apart from him. And then
Ernestine would ask him if he wanted his chair a little higher or lower,
or whether she should shut the window; and he would pick up one of his
embossed books and try to read something, and he would know, as he had
never known before, how the great world which did things was going right
on without him.
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