mere housework and the production of the sera which paid his expenses. "If you'd only been with me, I could have accomplished something." But his quinine derivative research had gone on solidly, and he did not regret leaving McGurk. He had found it impossible to work with monkeys; they were too expensive, and too fragile to stand the Vermont winter; but he had contrived a method of using mice infected with pneumococcus and—
"Oh, what's the use of my telling you this, Slim? You're not interested, or you'd have been up here at work with me, months ago. You've chosen between Joyce and me. All right, but you can't have both."
Martin snarled, "I'm very sorry I intruded on you, Wickett," and slammed out of the cabin. Stumbling through the snow, blundering in darkness against stumps, he knew the agony of his last hour, the hour of failure.
"I've lost Terry, now (though I won't stand his impertinence!). I've lost everybody, and I've never really had Joyce. I'm completely alone. And I can only half work! I'm through! They'll never let me get to work again!"
Suddenly, without arguing it out, he knew that he was not going to give up.
He floundered back to the cabin and burst in, crying, "You old grouch, we got to stick together!"
Terry was as much moved as he; neither of them was far from tears; and as they roughly patted each other's shoulders pail growled, "Fine pair of fools, scrapping just because we're tired!"
"I will come and 'work with you, somehow!" Martin swore. "I'll get a six-months' leave from the Institute, and have Joyce stay at some hotel near here, or do something. Gee! Back to real work. . . . Work! . . . Now tell me: When I come up here, what d'you say we—"
They talked till dawn.
