team arrived, set up. the machinery, and stay on for the paper work. The fourteen-month tour was to begin in Minnesota, move to Vermont, then zig-zag up and down the land, and across to California. One month before departure, Dr. Theodore Haines resigned. He had been offered a government job in Washington-as a result of his connection with Dr. Chapman-and it was important to him to stand independently on his own two feet. Dr. Chapman cajoled, to no avail. Haines departed-and Cass Miller took his place.
Dr. Chapman had rushed to Chicago to interview candidates, and Cass had appealed to him at once. Cass was a zoologist, in a small but highly rated Ohio college. He taught four classes, and he was working for his Ph.D. His background, so similar to Dr. Chapman’s own, and his fierce intensity, which, in his haste, Dr. Chapman mistook for dedication, were appealing. After surviving twenty-four hours of Dr. Chapman’s penetrating questions and a superficial check into his background, Cass became the fourth member of the team.
A week later, having settled his affairs in Ohio, Cass was at Reardon, undergoing day and night briefing. Horace thought him agreeable, but Paul was less certain. Cass was short, but solid and athletic. He was dark and handsome in a brooding sort of way, like an embodiment of Hamlet. His hair was black and wavy, his eyes narrow, his lips full. His cleanliness shone, and his clothes were impeccable. He walked with the bantam-cock strut of many small men, and there was about him the feeling of one high-strung, coiled tight. He exercised in a frenzied way, and was strong and tireless at his work. Often, he was uncommunicative, which at first deceived Paul into believing that he possessed hidden wisdom. He was given to cynicism, crudities (in the manner he spoke, for he was actually erudite), moderate drinking, and long silent walks. You have to know him well, Paul often thought, really to dislike him.
During the rigorous fourteen months past, Paul had come to know him well. Weighing all personality factors, Paul decided (to himself) that what repelled him most about Cass was his attitude toward women and sex. Since all of them were devoted day after day to studying the private sexual behavior of women, any deviation from the purely scientific attitude was glaring. Dr. Chapman was simply above ordinary off-hour sex talk and drive, and was not to be judged. Horace was apathetic, as if he had expended his last emotional investment in the wife who had divorced him. Paul imagined that Horace had a low sex quotient, and that, generally, he was a recluse in his private world of fantasy. Paul himself, based on Dr. Chapman’s findings in the bachelor survey, had been about normal in his desires and activity before joining the team. Recently, however, he had sublimated his physical needs in work. He now found that he could perform efficiently for several weeks without a woman. The surfeit of sex chatter each day, the long hours of note making, the constant travel, were enervating, and alcohol and sleep became satisfactory substitutes for physical love. But then, always, finally, there was a woman’s voice, legs, bust, and suddenly his emotions were engaged.
Since the members of the team labored under the closest national scrutiny, challenged constantly by moral voices of the Mrs. Grundys, their conduct had to be above reproach. Dr. Chapman hammered this home to them time and again. Paul played it safe. He found his occasional woman in the anonymity of a crowded bar or, as frequently, through a colleague in a co-operating university, a bachelor like himself who knew someone who had a friend. There was no love in this, but there was release and relaxation. Real love (whatever that was) Paul had never known, nor would he allow himself to dwell upon it. In this way, he supposed, he was like Cass, and yet he was not like Cass at all. For, he was sure, Cass hated women. Dr. Chapman, usually astute and perceptive about
Dr. Chapman had rushed to Chicago to interview candidates, and Cass had appealed to him at once. Cass was a zoologist, in a small but highly rated Ohio college. He taught four classes, and he was working for his Ph.D. His background, so similar to Dr. Chapman’s own, and his fierce intensity, which, in his haste, Dr. Chapman mistook for dedication, were appealing. After surviving twenty-four hours of Dr. Chapman’s penetrating questions and a superficial check into his background, Cass became the fourth member of the team.
A week later, having settled his affairs in Ohio, Cass was at Reardon, undergoing day and night briefing. Horace thought him agreeable, but Paul was less certain. Cass was short, but solid and athletic. He was dark and handsome in a brooding sort of way, like an embodiment of Hamlet. His hair was black and wavy, his eyes narrow, his lips full. His cleanliness shone, and his clothes were impeccable. He walked with the bantam-cock strut of many small men, and there was about him the feeling of one high-strung, coiled tight. He exercised in a frenzied way, and was strong and tireless at his work. Often, he was uncommunicative, which at first deceived Paul into believing that he possessed hidden wisdom. He was given to cynicism, crudities (in the manner he spoke, for he was actually erudite), moderate drinking, and long silent walks. You have to know him well, Paul often thought, really to dislike him.
During the rigorous fourteen months past, Paul had come to know him well. Weighing all personality factors, Paul decided (to himself) that what repelled him most about Cass was his attitude toward women and sex. Since all of them were devoted day after day to studying the private sexual behavior of women, any deviation from the purely scientific attitude was glaring. Dr. Chapman was simply above ordinary off-hour sex talk and drive, and was not to be judged. Horace was apathetic, as if he had expended his last emotional investment in the wife who had divorced him. Paul imagined that Horace had a low sex quotient, and that, generally, he was a recluse in his private world of fantasy. Paul himself, based on Dr. Chapman’s findings in the bachelor survey, had been about normal in his desires and activity before joining the team. Recently, however, he had sublimated his physical needs in work. He now found that he could perform efficiently for several weeks without a woman. The surfeit of sex chatter each day, the long hours of note making, the constant travel, were enervating, and alcohol and sleep became satisfactory substitutes for physical love. But then, always, finally, there was a woman’s voice, legs, bust, and suddenly his emotions were engaged.
Since the members of the team labored under the closest national scrutiny, challenged constantly by moral voices of the Mrs. Grundys, their conduct had to be above reproach. Dr. Chapman hammered this home to them time and again. Paul played it safe. He found his occasional woman in the anonymity of a crowded bar or, as frequently, through a colleague in a co-operating university, a bachelor like himself who knew someone who had a friend. There was no love in this, but there was release and relaxation. Real love (whatever that was) Paul had never known, nor would he allow himself to dwell upon it. In this way, he supposed, he was like Cass, and yet he was not like Cass at all. For, he was sure, Cass hated women. Dr. Chapman, usually astute and perceptive about
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