May 22nd, 1908- Arkham, Mass.
Dr. Frank Pabodie was a big, boisterous fellow, a hearty sort from good New England stock. Like many an engineer, he had an affable sort of demeanor that nonetheless ubtly lacked in the social graces of finer society. His comparative youth- for there were no younger engineers at Miskatonic- only contributed a skin of callowness to his heavior. If he wanted to know a thing, he asked after it, and damn the possible social consequences.
Still and all, he had a little tact to him. It was this small measure that kept him from asking after Stantz's experimental apparatus at the table that night. Mrs. Franklin, after all, was more concerned about the man's sister, who had vanished as suddenly as she came. It seemed the Arkham atmosphere disagreed with her, and she'd been forced to take the first train possible back to Boston for the sake of her health. It all smacked a bit of fish to Pabodie, but he reckoned he knew the real story. He'd seen enough of Stantz by now to know the man's habits, and how little a woman like that fit into them.
When supper was cleared away and Stantz retired to his room, Pabodie followed him at a decent distance. Judging that a count of twenty was quite enough to avoid seeming too much of a busybody, he rapped at the other man's door. "Who is it?" Stantz's muffled voice called from within.
"It's me, Pabodie. Open up."
"Oh- right..." Stantz opened the door to a room not unlike Pabodie's own, save that it was crammed much more tightly with books, a feat Pabodie would have thought impossible. "Sorry, Pabodie. I was busy reading."
"And here I thought you'd be working on that machine of yours," said Pabodie. "I was going to offer to help, as a matter of fact. Your sister wrecked it, didn't she."
A momentary look of bafflement and anguish swept over Stantz's face. "What- I-"
"Say no more, Stantz. You've been up to your elbows in that thing for as long as I've known you, right up to last night. I've seen all the mail you've had, all the packages from Europe, everything you've put into it- why, half of the engineering department doesn't even think to look that far afield for quality equipment. You, my friend, were experimenting with everything you had." Pabodie poked one meaty finger (his hands, alas, were too thick and too stubby for his liking) at the other man's chest. "And then along comes a woman, an untrained one at that, and in the space of a week it all comes to a halt. I'm sure your sister was clever enough in her own way, but women're nothing but death to scientific equipment."
"Excuse me," Stantz began indignantly, but Pabodie was on a roll and would not be denied.
"I don't see any parts, I don't see any tools-" He craned his head to peer into the room, just to be certain. "And even those batteries you built are gone. Damned impressive things, by the way."
"Thank you. They were absolute murder to get up to full efficiency, I might note."
"Yes, you've said," said Pabodie vaguely. "I'd wanted to ask you about those at some point, but if they're all ruined. . ." He let it trail off, brows rising expectantly.
"Oh, they are," said Stantz, "but I've got the schematics, and the ingredients list. Honestly, they're the simplest components of the whole philotic assessment apparatus to make. They're just batteries."
"Just," repeated Pabodie with a snort. "Stantz, they were incredible. Are you sure you want to work for Armitage? You've missed your calling if all you're ever going to be is a librarian."
Stantz hesitated a moment, then sighed. "It's all I'm qualified for," he said.
"Hogwash. With a knack for chemistry like yours- with a knack for engineering like yours-"
"No, you don't understand- it's all I'm qualified for. You know I went to Columbia, don't you?" Pabodie nodded. Armitage had said as much. "Well, I studied at the School of Mines, Engineering, and Chemistry, and I was going for my doctorate young-"
"Must've been quite the scholar, then," said Pabodie, who would know.
"I was at the time," said Stantz. "But then came the accident. One of my experiments towards my doctorate exploded, and... well, it nearly killed one of my fellow experimenters."
"Aaah," said Pabodie. "Much, I think, becomes clear. . ."
Stantz shrugged. "I guess. But that was the end of my time as a student there. Hence, the office next to Armitage's and the desk loaded with obscure books and Greek and Sumerian translations to be done. Those I can handle without having a doctorate to show for it."
"Suppose that makes sense," said Pabodie, but a thoughtful gleam had come into his eye that any sensible man would be well warned to fear. "Are you just going to leave it like that, though?"
"How do you mean?"
"Well-" Pabodie waved a hand at the space behind Stantz, on the other side of the still-mostly-closed door. "You can't tell me that was the site of an explosion. Mrs. Franklin would've said something about that, I'd think, or the help would've. You've learned that lesson, at least."
"So what if I have? Columbia doesn't even have any records of me these days."
"Irrelevant," said Pabodie. "If only because you've got status at another university altogether now."
"But-"
"Which, I believe, is enough to let you audit classes gratis- or am I wrong?"
"No," said Stantz carefully, "no, Dr. Armitage did say that-"
"Right, then. You've got that, at least. What if I were to tell you that your application for admission as, oh, an undergraduate student would have at least one sponsor in the engineering department? Sit a few classes, take a few tests, get slotted into the classes you're really fit for, and who knows how soon you could be defending your thesis. . ."
There was a long moment of silent thought before Stantz finally stepped back and opened the door all the way. "Your ideas intrigue me, and I wish to subscribe to your newsletter," he said.
"Beg pardon?"
"It means 'come in and tell me more about this plan'."
Still and all, he had a little tact to him. It was this small measure that kept him from asking after Stantz's experimental apparatus at the table that night. Mrs. Franklin, after all, was more concerned about the man's sister, who had vanished as suddenly as she came. It seemed the Arkham atmosphere disagreed with her, and she'd been forced to take the first train possible back to Boston for the sake of her health. It all smacked a bit of fish to Pabodie, but he reckoned he knew the real story. He'd seen enough of Stantz by now to know the man's habits, and how little a woman like that fit into them.
When supper was cleared away and Stantz retired to his room, Pabodie followed him at a decent distance. Judging that a count of twenty was quite enough to avoid seeming too much of a busybody, he rapped at the other man's door. "Who is it?" Stantz's muffled voice called from within.
"It's me, Pabodie. Open up."
"Oh- right..." Stantz opened the door to a room not unlike Pabodie's own, save that it was crammed much more tightly with books, a feat Pabodie would have thought impossible. "Sorry, Pabodie. I was busy reading."
"And here I thought you'd be working on that machine of yours," said Pabodie. "I was going to offer to help, as a matter of fact. Your sister wrecked it, didn't she."
A momentary look of bafflement and anguish swept over Stantz's face. "What- I-"
"Say no more, Stantz. You've been up to your elbows in that thing for as long as I've known you, right up to last night. I've seen all the mail you've had, all the packages from Europe, everything you've put into it- why, half of the engineering department doesn't even think to look that far afield for quality equipment. You, my friend, were experimenting with everything you had." Pabodie poked one meaty finger (his hands, alas, were too thick and too stubby for his liking) at the other man's chest. "And then along comes a woman, an untrained one at that, and in the space of a week it all comes to a halt. I'm sure your sister was clever enough in her own way, but women're nothing but death to scientific equipment."
"Excuse me," Stantz began indignantly, but Pabodie was on a roll and would not be denied.
"I don't see any parts, I don't see any tools-" He craned his head to peer into the room, just to be certain. "And even those batteries you built are gone. Damned impressive things, by the way."
"Thank you. They were absolute murder to get up to full efficiency, I might note."
"Yes, you've said," said Pabodie vaguely. "I'd wanted to ask you about those at some point, but if they're all ruined. . ." He let it trail off, brows rising expectantly.
"Oh, they are," said Stantz, "but I've got the schematics, and the ingredients list. Honestly, they're the simplest components of the whole philotic assessment apparatus to make. They're just batteries."
"Just," repeated Pabodie with a snort. "Stantz, they were incredible. Are you sure you want to work for Armitage? You've missed your calling if all you're ever going to be is a librarian."
Stantz hesitated a moment, then sighed. "It's all I'm qualified for," he said.
"Hogwash. With a knack for chemistry like yours- with a knack for engineering like yours-"
"No, you don't understand- it's all I'm qualified for. You know I went to Columbia, don't you?" Pabodie nodded. Armitage had said as much. "Well, I studied at the School of Mines, Engineering, and Chemistry, and I was going for my doctorate young-"
"Must've been quite the scholar, then," said Pabodie, who would know.
"I was at the time," said Stantz. "But then came the accident. One of my experiments towards my doctorate exploded, and... well, it nearly killed one of my fellow experimenters."
"Aaah," said Pabodie. "Much, I think, becomes clear. . ."
Stantz shrugged. "I guess. But that was the end of my time as a student there. Hence, the office next to Armitage's and the desk loaded with obscure books and Greek and Sumerian translations to be done. Those I can handle without having a doctorate to show for it."
"Suppose that makes sense," said Pabodie, but a thoughtful gleam had come into his eye that any sensible man would be well warned to fear. "Are you just going to leave it like that, though?"
"How do you mean?"
"Well-" Pabodie waved a hand at the space behind Stantz, on the other side of the still-mostly-closed door. "You can't tell me that was the site of an explosion. Mrs. Franklin would've said something about that, I'd think, or the help would've. You've learned that lesson, at least."
"So what if I have? Columbia doesn't even have any records of me these days."
"Irrelevant," said Pabodie. "If only because you've got status at another university altogether now."
"But-"
"Which, I believe, is enough to let you audit classes gratis- or am I wrong?"
"No," said Stantz carefully, "no, Dr. Armitage did say that-"
"Right, then. You've got that, at least. What if I were to tell you that your application for admission as, oh, an undergraduate student would have at least one sponsor in the engineering department? Sit a few classes, take a few tests, get slotted into the classes you're really fit for, and who knows how soon you could be defending your thesis. . ."
There was a long moment of silent thought before Stantz finally stepped back and opened the door all the way. "Your ideas intrigue me, and I wish to subscribe to your newsletter," he said.
"Beg pardon?"
"It means 'come in and tell me more about this plan'."