Dr. Mord, far from reacting with justified wrath, chose the way of the true scientist. He showed this delegation through his laboratory to demonstrate that his activities were innocent, and it departed singing his praises, so to speak. They were particularly enthusiastic about two “phases” of his work which he demonstrated: some sort of “waking anaesthesia” gas, and a mechanical device for the induction of the hypnotic state.
I myself called on Dr. Mord as soon as he had settled down, in my capacity as President of the Eleusis Committee for the Preservation .of Local Historical Buildings and Sites. I explained to the good doctor that in the parlor of the Had-dam house had been formed in 1861 the Oquanantic Zouaves, that famed regiment of daredevils who with zeal and dash guarded the Boston (Massachusetts) Customs House through the four sanguinary years of conflict. I expressed the hope that the intricate fretsaw work, the stained glass, the elegant mansard roof and the soaring central tower would remain mute witnesses to the martial glory of Eleusis, and not fall victim to the “remodeling” craze.
Dr. Mord, with his characteristic smile (its first effect is unsettling, I confess, but when one later learns of the kindly intentions behind it, one grows accustomed to his face) replied somewhat irrelevantly by asking whether I had any dependents. He proceeded to a rather searching inquiry, explaining that as a man of science he liked to be sure of his
facts. I advised him that I understood, diffidently mentioning that I was no stranger to scientific rigor, my own grandfather having published a massive Evidences for the Phlogiston Theory of Heat.* Somehow the interview concluded with Dr. Mord asking: “Mr. Spoynte, what do you consider your greatest contribution to human knowledge and welfare, and do you suppose that you will ever surpass that contribution?”
I replied after consideration that no doubt my “high water mark” was my discovery of the 1777 Order Book of the Wyalusing Militia Company in the basement of the Spodder Memorial Library, where it had been lost to sight for thirty-eight years after being rhisfiled under “Indian Religions (Local).” To the second part of his question I could only answer that it was given to few men twice to perform so momentous a service to scholarship.
On this odd note we parted; it occurred to me as I wended my way home that I had not succeeded in eliciting from the doctor a reply as to his intentions of preserving intact die Haddam house! But he “struck” me as an innately conservative person, and I had little real fear of the remodeler’s ruthless hammer and saw.
This impression was reinforced during the subsequent month, for the doctor intimated that he would be pleased to have me call on him Thursday evenings for a chat over the coffee cups.
These chats were the customary conversations of two teamed men of the world, skimming lightly over knowledge’s whole domain. Once, for example, Dr. Mord amusingly theorized that one of the most difficult things in the world for a private person to do was to find a completely useless human being. The bad men were in prison or hiding, he explained, and when one investigated the others it always turned out Aat they had some redeeming quality or usefulness to somebody. “Almost always,” he amended with a laugh. At other Hoes he would question me deeply about my life and activist*, now and then muttering: “I must be sure; I must be
•Generally considered the last word on the subject though, as I
••demand it, somewhat eclipsed at present by the flashy and mysti-oi “molecular theory” of the notorious Tory sympathizer and rene-
•Jd*Benjamin Thompson, styled “Count” Rumford. “A fool can
•N*»* find a bigger fool to admire him.” [Quote in orig. French? Check source and exact text HS]
sure”—typical of his scientist’s passion for precision. Yet again, he would speak of the glorious Age of Pericles, saying fervently: “Spoynte, I would give anything, do anything, to look upon ancient Athens in its flower!”
Now, I claim no genius inspired my rejoinder. I was merely “the right man in the right place.” I replied: “Dr. Mord, your wish to visit ancient Athens could be no more fervent than mine to visit Major Waiting’s horse barn at milking time the evening of July 17, 1789.”