Arrowsmith - Sinclair Lewis [171]
There were rumors. Dr. Billy Smith whispered that he had gone in to see Tubbs and heard McGurk shouting at him, “Your job is to run this shop and not work for that land-stealing, four-flushing, play-producing son of evil, Pete Minnigen!”
The morning after, when Martin ambled to his laboratory, he discovered a gasping, a muttering, a shaking in the corridors, and incredulously he heard:
“Tubbs has resigned!”
“No!”
“They say he’s gone to his League of Cultural Agencies. This fellow Minnigen has given the League a scad of money, and Tubbs is to get twice the salary he had here!”
II
Instantly, for all but the zealots like Gottlieb, Terry, Martin, and the bio-physics assistant, research was halted. There was a surging of factions, a benevolent and winning buzz of scientists who desired to be the new Director of the Institute.
Rippleton Holabird, Yeo the carpenter-like biologist, Gillingham the joky chief in bio-physics, Aaron Sholtheis the neat Russian Jewish High Church Episcopalian, all of them went about with expressions of modest willingness. They were affectionate with everybody they met in the corridors, however violent they were in private discussions. Added to them were no few outsiders, professors and researchers in other institutes, who found it necessary to come and confer about rather undefined matters with Ross McGurk.
Terry remarked to Martin, “Probably Pearl Robbins and your garcon are pitching horseshoes for the Directorship. My garcon ain’t — the only reason, though, is because I’ve just murdered him. At that, I think Pearl would be the best choice. She’s been Tubbs’s secretary so long that she’s learned all his ignorance about scientific technique.”
Rippleton Holabird was the most unctuous of the office seekers, and the most hungry. The war over, he missed his uniform and his authority. He urged Martin:
“You know how I’ve always believed in your genius, Martin, and I know how dear old Gottlieb believes in you. If you would get Gottlieb to back me, to talk to McGurk — Of course in taking the Directorship I would be making a sacrifice, because I’d have to give up my research, but I’d be willing because I feel, really, that somebody with a Tradition ought to carry on the control. Tubbs is backing me, and if Gottlieb did — I’d see that it was to Gottlieb’s advantage. I’d give him a lot more floor-space!”
Through the Institute it was vaguely known that Capitola was advocating the election of Holabird as “the only scientist here who is also a gentleman.” She was seen sailing down corridors, a frigate, with Holabird a sloop in her wake.
But while Holabird beamed, Nicholas Yeo looked secret and satisfied.
The whole Institute fluttered on the afternoon when the Board of Trustees met in the Hall, for the election of a Director. They were turned from investigators into boarding-school girls. The Board debated, or did something annoying, for draining hours.
At four, Terry Wickett hastened to Martin with, “Say, Slim, I’ve got a straight tip that They’ve elected Silva, dean of the Winnemac medical school. That’s your shop, isn’t it? Wha’s like?”
“He’s a fine old — No! He and Gottlieb hate each other. Lord! Gottlieb’ll resign, and I’ll have to get out. Just when my work’s going nice!”
At five, past doors made of attentive eyes, the Board of Trustees marched to the laboratory of Max Gottlieb.
Holabird was heard saying bravely, “Of course with me, I wouldn’t give my research up for any administrative job.” And Pearl Robbins informed Terry, “Yes, it’s true — Mr. McGurk himself just told me — the Board has elected Dr. Gottlieb the new Director.”
“Then they’re fools,” said Terry. “He’ll refuse it, with wilence. ‘Dot dey should ask me to go monkey-skipping mit committee meetings!’ Fat chance!”
When the Board had gone, Martin and Terry flooded into Gottlieb’s laboratory and found the old man standing by