Part 37 (1/2)
There is, of course, a considerable body of evidence, and it all seems to point one way. But I am unwilling to make a decisive move without something more definite. I am really waiting for confirmation or otherwise of my ideas on the subject; for some new item of evidence.”
”I didn't know there was any evidence.”
”Didn't you?” said Thornd.y.k.e. ”But you know as much as I know. You have all the essential facts; but apparently you haven't collated them and extracted their meaning. If you had, you would have found them curiously significant.”
”I suppose I mustn't ask what their significance is?”
”No, I think not. When I am conducting a case I mention my surmises to n.o.body--not even to Jervis. Then I can say confidently that there has been no leakage. Don't think I distrust you. Remember that my thoughts are my client's property, and that the essence of strategy is to keep the enemy in the dark.”
”Yes, I see that. Of course, I ought not to have asked.”
”You ought not to need to ask,” Thornd.y.k.e replied, with a smile; ”you should put the facts together and reason from them yourself.”
While we had been talking I had noticed Thornd.y.k.e glance at me inquisitively from time to time. Now, after an interval of silence, he asked suddenly:
”Is anything amiss, Berkeley? Are you worrying about your friends'
affairs?”
”No, not particularly; though their prospects don't look very rosy.”
”Perhaps they are not quite so bad as they look,” said he. ”But I am afraid something is troubling you. All your gay spirits seem to have evaporated.” He paused for a few moments, and then added: ”I don't want to intrude on your private affairs, but if I can help you by advice or otherwise, remember that we are old friends and that you are my academic offspring.”
Instinctively, with a man's natural reticence, I began to mumble a half-articulate disclaimer; and then I stopped. After all, why should I not confide in him? He was a good man and a wise man, full of human sympathy, as I knew, though so cryptic and secretive in his professional capacity. And I wanted a friend badly just now.
”I am afraid,” I began shyly, ”it is not a matter that admits of much help, and it's hardly the sort of thing that I ought to worry you by talking about----”
”If it is enough to make you unhappy, my dear fellow, it is enough to merit serious consideration by your friend; so, if you don't mind telling me----”
”Of course I don't, sir!” I exclaimed.
”Then fire away; and don't call me 'sir.' We are brother pract.i.tioners now.”
Thus encouraged, I poured out the story of my little romance; bashfully at first and with halting phrases, but, later, with more freedom and confidence. He listened with grave attention, and once or twice put a question when my narrative became a little disconnected. When I had finished he laid his hand softly on my arm.
”You have had rough luck, Berkeley. I don't wonder that you are miserable. I am more sorry than I can tell you.”
”Thank you,” I said. ”It's exceedingly good of you to listen so patiently, but it's a shame for me to pester you with my sentimental troubles.”
”Now, Berkeley, you don't think that, and I hope you don't think that I do. We should be bad biologists and worse physicians if we should under-estimate the importance of that which is Nature's chiefest care.
The one salient biological truth is the paramount importance of s.e.x; and we are deaf and blind if we do not hear and see it in everything that lives when we look abroad upon the world; when we listen to the spring song of the birds, or when we consider the lilies of the field. And as is man to the lower organisms, so is human love to their merely reflex manifestations of s.e.x. I will maintain, and you will agree with me, I know, that the love of a serious and honourable man for a woman who is worthy of him is the most momentous of all human affairs. It is the foundation of social life, and its failure is a serious calamity, not only to those whose lives may be thereby spoilt, but to society at large.”
”It's a serious enough matter for the parties concerned,” I agreed; ”but that is no reason why they should bore their friends.”
”But they don't. Friends should help one another and think it a privilege.”
”Oh, I shouldn't mind coming to you for help, knowing you as I do. But no one can help a poor devil in a case like this--and certainly not a medical jurist.”
”Oh, come, Berkeley!” he protested, ”don't rate us too low. The humblest of creatures has its uses--'even the little pismire,' you know, as Isaak Walton tells us. Why, I have got substantial help from a stamp-collector. And then reflect upon the motor-scorcher and the earthworm and the blow-fly. All these lowly creatures play their parts in the scheme of Nature; and shall we cast out the medical jurist as nothing worth?”
I laughed dejectedly at my teacher's genial irony.
”What I meant,” said I, ”was that there is nothing to be done but wait--perhaps for ever. I don't know why she isn't able to marry me, and I mustn't ask her. She can't be married already.”