The Skylark of Space | Page 9

the mind of a
great scientist, working on a subject of which but very few men have
even an inkling. I am certain that the only reason he thought of me is

that he could not finance the investigation alone. Never think for an
instant that his absorption implies a lack of fondness for you. You are
his anchor, his only hold on known things. In fact, it was about this that
I came to see you. Dick is working himself at a rate that not even a
machine can stand. He eats hardly anything, and if he sleeps at all, I
have never caught him at it. That idea is driving him day and night, and
if he goes on the way he is going, it means a breakdown. I do not know
whether you can make him listen to reason or not--certainly no one else
can. If you think you can do it, that is to be your job, and it will be the
biggest one of the three."
"How well you understand him," Dorothy said, after a pause. "You
make me feel ashamed, Martin. I should have known without being
told. Then I wouldn't have had these nasty little doubts about him."
"I should call them perfectly natural, considering the circumstances,"
he answered. "Men with minds like Dick's are rare. They work on only
one track. Your part will be hard. He will come to you, bursting with
news and aching to tell you all about his theories and facts and
calculations, and you must try to take his mind off the whole thing and
make him think of something else. It looks impossible to me."
* * * * *
The smile had come back to Dorothy's face. Her head, graced by its
wealth of gleaming auburn hair, was borne proudly, and glancing
mischief lit her violet eyes.
"Didn't you just tell me nothing is impossible? You know, Martin, that
I can make Dicky forget everything, even interstellar--did I get that
word right?--space itself, with my violin."
"Trying to beguile a scientist from his hobby is comparable only to
luring a drug addict away from his vice ... but I would not be surprised
if you could do it," he slowly replied.
For he had heard her play. She and Seaton had been caught near his
home by a sudden shower while on horseback, and had dashed in for

shelter. While the rain beat outside and while Shiro was preparing one
of his famous suppers, Crane had suggested that she pass the time by
playing his "fiddle." Dorothy realized, with the first sweep of the bow,
that she was playing a Stradivarius, the like of which she had played
before only in her dreams. She forgot her listeners, forgot the time and
the place, and poured out in her music all the beauty and tenderness of
her nature. Soft and full the tones filled the room, and in Crane's vision
there rose a home filled with happy work, with laughter and
companionship, with playing children who turned their faces to their
mother as do flowers to the light. Sensing the girl's dreams as the music
filled his ears, he realized as never before in his busy, purposeful life
how beautiful a home with the right woman could be. No thought of
love for Dorothy entered his mind, for he knew that the love existing
between her and his friend was of the kind that nothing could alter, but
he felt that she had unwittingly given him a great gift. Often thereafter
in his lonely hours he had imagined that dream-home, and nothing less
than its perfection would ever satisfy him.
For a time they walked on in silence. On Dorothy's face was a tender
look, the reflection of her happy thoughts, and in Crane's mind floated
again the vision of his ideal home, the home whose central figure he
was unable to visualize. At last she turned and placed her hand on his
arm.
"You have done a great deal for me--for us," she said simply. "I wish
there were something I could do for you in return."
"You have already done much more than that for me, Dorothy," he
answered, more slowly even than usual. "It is hard for me to express
just what it is, but I want you to know that you and Dick mean much to
me.... You are the first real woman I have ever known, and some day, if
life is good to me, I hope to have some girl as lovely care for me."
Dorothy's sensitive face flushed warmly. So unexpected and sincere
was his praise that it made her feel both proud and humble. She had
never realized that this quiet, apparently unimaginative man had seen
all the ideals she