II
He found Challis at his house in Eaton Square the next morning, but it became evident from the outset that the plan of confounding Grossmann did not appeal to the magnate of Stoke-Underhill. Challis frowned and prevaricated. "It's a thousand to one, the child won't condescend to answer," was his chief evasion.
Elmer was not to be frustrated in the development of his scheme by any such trivial excuse as that. He began to display a considerable annoyance at last.
"Oh! nonsense; nonsense, Challis," he said. "You make altogether too much fuss about this prodigy of yours."
"Not mine," Challis interrupted. "Take him over yourself, Elmer. Bring him out. Exhibit him. I make you a gift of all my interest in him."
Elmer looked thoughtful for a moment, as if he were seriously considering that proposition, and then he said, "I recognise that there are—difficulties. The child seems—er—to have a queer, morose temper, doesn't he?"
Challis shook his head. "It isn't that," he said.
Elmer scratched his cheek. "I understand," he began, and then broke off and went on, "I'm putting this as a personal favour, Challis; but it is more than that. You know my theories with regard to the future of the race. I have a steady faith in our enormous potentialities for real progress. But it must be organised, and Grossmann is just now standing in our way. That stubborn materialism of his has infected many fine intelligences; and I would make very great sacrifices in order to clear this great and terrible obstacle out of the way."
"And you believe that this interview …" interrupted Challis.
"I do, indeed," Elmer said. "It will destroy one of Grossmann's most vital premisses. This prodigy of yours—he is unquestionably a prodigy—demonstrates the fact of an immense progressive variation. Once that is conceded, the main argument of Grossmann's 'Heredity' is invalidated. We shall have knocked away the keystone of his mechanistic theory of evolution...."
"But suppose that the boy refuses...."
"He did not refuse to see us."
"That was to save himself from further trouble."
"But isn't he susceptible to argument?"
"Not the kind of argument you have been using to me," Challis said gravely.
Elmer blew like a porpoise; looked very thoughtful for a moment, and then said:
"You could represent Grossmann as the final court of appeal—the High Lord Muck-a-muck of the L.E.A."
"I should have to do something of the sort," Challis admitted, and continued with a spurt of temper. "But understand, Elmer, I don't do it again; no, not to save the reputation of the Royal Society."