“I appreciate the fact that we are intruding at a most inconvenient time,” said Ashton-Kirk. “And I beg of you to accept our apologies.”
The eyes of Dr. Mercer, which had the appearance of swimming in fat, were removed from his visitors, and fixed themselves longingly upon a great dish filled with a steaming, heavy-looking pudding. His breath labored in his chest as he replied:
“The hour is somewhat unusual; but as it happens I have about finished my dinner, and if your errand is not of a stirring nature, I should be pleased to have you state it.”
The man placed chairs in such a position that the doctor would not have to stir to fully observe his visitors. This done he was about to withdraw; but his employer stopped him at the door.
“Haines,” complained he, “you have not taken my order for breakfast.”
The man paused and seemed much abashed at his neglect.
“I really beg your pardon, sir,” said he. And with that he produced a pencil and a small book and stood ready.
“I will have one of those trout that I purchased today,” directed the doctor. “Let it be that large, fine one that I was so pleased with,” his swimming eyes ready to float out of his head with anticipation. “Then I would like some new-laid eggs, some hot cakes, and perhaps a small piece of steak, if there is any that is tender and tasty. And mind you,” in an nervous afterthought, “tell Mrs. Crane to have it but rarely done. I will not tolerate it dry and without flavor.” He pondered awhile, apparently much moved by this painful possibility; then he added: “I may as well have a cereal to begin with, I suppose. And that will be all with the exception of a few slices from the cold roast and some white rolls.”
Carefully Haines had taken this down; and after he had read it over at his employer’s order and noted a few alterations and additions, he departed. For a few moments the doctor’s eyes were closed in expectant rapture; his breathing grew so stertorous that his callers were becoming alarmed; but he spoke at last, reluctantly, resentfully.
“I am now ready to hear you, gentlemen, if you please. And kindly remember that I prohibit anything of an exciting nature at this time.”
“We have heard your school highly spoken of,” said Ashton-Kirk. “And have come to make some inquiries before making up our minds.”
“Ah,” breathed Dr. Mercer, solemnly, “you have an afflicted one. Too bad! Tut, tut, tut, too bad!”
“There are many institutions of the sort,” proceeded the investigator. “But for the most part they stop at the threshold, so to speak, of knowledge.”
Dr. Mercer roused himself so far as to unclasp his hands and point with one finger at the speaker.
“Sir,” said he, in a voice full of grave significance, “they seldom reach the threshold. A large majority of them are conducted by dishonest persons. Afflicted youth left in their charge are rarely properly directed—they rarely acquire that digital dexterity so necessary to success in their limited lives. The isolated brain, so to call it, is seldom more than half awakened. Unless it is intelligently approached, the shadows are never thoroughly dispelled.”
Here he paused, panting distressedly; his eyes were filled with reproach as he relapsed into his first attitude; and his manner was that of one who mutely begged that no further tasks be thrust upon him.
“The difference in institutions of this type lies mainly in the methods employed, I believe,” said Ashton-Kirk.
“In the methods—and in the persons who apply them,” replied Dr. Mercer in a smothered tone.
“To be sure. I have heard something of your teaching staff. It is a very excellent one, is it not?”
“The best in the world.” The soft, fat, white hands of the doctor again unclasped themselves; and this time both of them were employed in a faintly traced gesture. “We employ scientists. We do not stop at what you have correctly called the threshold. We explore the entire structure of the intellect. Our Professor Locke, himself an afflicted one, is a man of vast erudition—a scholar of an advanced type, a philosopher whose adventures into the field of psychology and natural science is widely known. He has charge of the practical work of the Mercer Institute, and under him its results are positive and unique.”
“We have heard of Professor Locke,” and, drily, “have seen some of his work.”
“If you had stated your business before—ah—coming in to me,” spoke the doctor, “you might have had an opportunity of consulting him. He left for his cottage immediately after dining.”
“He does not live here, then?”
“Not in this building—no. There is a detached cottage at the far end of the grounds which he occupies. If you’d like to see him,” and the heavy jowls of the speaker trembled with eagerness, “Haines will show you there at once.”
“If it is no trouble,” said Ashton-Kirk, smoothly.
“Not in the least.” The doctor rang for his man, and when he entered, said: “These gentlemen would like to speak to Professor Locke. Show them the way to his house. And, gentlemen,” to the callers, with anxiety, “the professor can arrange everything with you. It is my habit to nod for a half hour after dinner. My system has grown to expect it, and if I am deprived of it, I suffer considerably in consequence.”
“We will not trouble you again, doctor,” Ashton-Kirk assured him. “Thank you, and good night.”
Once more outside, the man led them along a footpath that seemed to cut the institution grounds in two. The rays of his lantern danced along the carefully kept lawn; the shadowy trees seemed to move backward and forward, as the thin beams wavered among them.
“The professor lives a good piece away,” the man informed them. “Away over on the county road.”
“Prefers to be alone, eh?”
“I suppose so, sir. And then he has his laboratory and workshop there, well away from interruption. He don’t like to be much disturbed while he
