She began to think that the most trying thing in
the world was to have people polite to one.
The very first week was the worst of all. No one knew what to do with
her; as this was her own idea, an idea no one else pretended to
understand, it was expected she make some suggestions for the proper
disposition of herself. But poor Ernestine did not know enough about it
to make disposition of herself. She could only smile with a courageous
serenity, and ask that she be shown how to help about things. And so Mr.
Willard, who was in charge of Karl's laboratory, and who was Karl without
Karl's genius, turned her over to Mr. Beason, his assistant. Beason would
show her how to "help."
Her sense of humour helped her there. It was amusing that one who was
learning to "help" should be such an encumbrance. And there were many
amusing things about Mr. Beason. He was afraid of her because she was a
woman, for like reason disapproving of her presence in the laboratory,
and yet there was an unconscious deference, the same kind of veneration
he would have paid Karl's old coat, or his pipe.
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