Instead he
was preparing for what he called a quiet day in the laboratory.
"Now for some REAL work," he smiled. "Sometimes, Walter, I feel
that I ought to give up this outside activity and devote myself
entirely to research. It is so much more important."
I could only stare at him and reflect on how often men wanted to
do something other than the very thing that nature had evidently
intended them to do, and on how fortunate it was that we were not
always free agents.
He set out for the laboratory and I determined that as long as he
would not stop working, neither would I. I tried to write. Somehow
I was not in the mood. I wrote AT my story, but succeeded only in
making it more unintelligible. I was in no fit condition for it.
It was late in the afternoon. I had made up my mind to use force,
if necessary, to separate Kennedy from his study of selenium. My
idea was that anything from the Metropolitan to the "movies" would
do him good, and I had almost carried my point when a big,
severely plain black foreign limousine pulled up with a rush at
the laboratory door.
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