she added, thoughtfully, "if he was
brilliant enough to build up such a wonderful theory ... think out such
a thing as actually traveling to the stars ... all on such a slight
foundation of fact ... I wonder why he couldn't have told me?"

She hadn't meant to utter the last thought. Nobody must know how being
left out of it had hurt her, and she would have recalled the words if
she could. Crane understood, and answered loyally.

"He will tell you all about it very soon, never fear. His is 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