April came, and earth was called upon to part with Sir William Crookes, who was perhaps the first to suggest that the atoms of earth are of electric origin. Hardly had he read of Sir William’s death when Marvin was invaded by the influenza germ. It laid him low, kept him in bed six weeks, and left him with a weakened heart. The man who sailed for home was thin enough to serve for his own radiograph. If Gratia suggested pearl, he suggested a structure of calcium less beautiful. Chapter 21. Scandium Late in May, having landed in New York and been granted a month’s leave, he went on Sunday morning to call on Dr. Grein. The landlady said the gentleman was not in, that he had called a taxicab and driven off to Riverside Park. Marvin walked round into the park, surprised that his vigorous friend should need a cab for so short a distance. The great city seemed to have grown in his absence. Here, where perchance some old Dutch windmill once stood, a steady stream of cars was passing, dangerous to cross. Even the river looked more populous. There came into his mind something that Beers had once quoted at Shef in an effort to civilize the sophomores: “Cities will crowd to its edge in a blacker, incessanter line.” He walked south, stopping occasionally to rest his heart, to where a great tomb of white granite shone, and found Grein sitting near it, with lackluster eyes. But the meeting was cordial enough. Some spark of ancestral custom awoke in Grein, and he kissed his friend on both cheeks. Then he sat down again, as if his knees refused to function. “I can’t sleep. My hands are cold all the time. I can’t remember my appointments. I can’t read mathematics. I haven’t read the stuff you sent me from France.” “I’m lucky,” laughed Marvin, who was handsome in bones, and showed some of them when he laughed. “Marvin, I’m afraid I shall have to quit.” “No, Dr. Grein.” “But I live in constant fear. Every day I expect that the president will drop in to my office and catch me in an explosion. I can’t talk to students. I get enraged over nothing.” And Grein, who never wept, hid his face in his hands and wept like a child. “There’s no cause for worry,” said Marvin. “All you need is a month or two at the shore. The war has worn on you. Your father fought with Siegel and was probably as nervous as Siegel in the saddle, but you have had to sit still while I did my best to kill your cousins.” “They are dead,” answered Grein. “But I could have stood it if the patriots of this damned city hadn’t accused me of lending aid and comfort in the matter of chemicals. I don’t need to tell you—” “No, darlin’, you don’t.” “But I do! I do! It was a lie—a black, dirty—” and Grein sobbingly exploded into oaths. Marvin’s weak heart was panting with indignant sympathy, but he listened until the smoke cleared away. Then he said, “Quite so. Did the president stand by you?” Grein wiped his eyes and looked up at the shining monument.