Kender puffed. The cigar tip glowed like neon and the atmosphere of the lab became foul with smoke. “I suppose it’s happened,” he said.

Later that night Dr. Longwood came into the Animal Laboratory and Adam steeled himself somewhat irritably for further appraisal and examination.

But the Old Man merely asked his permission to examine the lab book on the Anti-Lymphocyte Serum series.

He sat like a tragic caricature and read while his hand in his lap trembled and Adam was forced to look away. Perhaps he sensed this; the hand began to play with his key ring while he read, the keys making a gentle jangling noise like . . . what?

The Harlequin’s bells, Adam thought.

“You keep the horses here, in another part of this building?” Dr. Longwood asked.

“No, sir,” Adam said. “The hospital owns the animals, but they’re kept at the state biological laboratories. We collect lymph nodes from human cadavers and grind them and send them to the state labs, where they’re injected into the horses to produce the serum.”

Dr. Longwood tapped the notebook with a thin finger. “You’ve gotten some results.”

Adam nodded. “The serum retards the rejection mechanism. When we use it we can give powerful immunosuppressive drugs like Imuran in doses small enough to leave the animal some protection against infection.”

Longwood nodded, apparently having learned what he had come for. “You like this work, with the animals?”

“It’s making me a better surgeon, I think.”

“It will do that.”

Adam suddenly felt the force of his eyes.

“Where are you going next year, when you leave us?”

He took the question badly, realizing that Longwood had decided it was all over. Then he was comforted, remembering that Kender obviously had not felt that way.

“I don’t know yet.”

“Why don’t you decide on a geographical area and let me know. I’ll be glad to help you find something.”

“Thank you,” Adam managed.

“I would like you to read something.” Dr. Longwood reached into his briefcase and took out a box. “It’s about two-thirds of a book manuscript. For a text on general surgery.”

Adam nodded. “Whatever a Chief Resident’s opinion is worth, you’ll have it.”

“Some very senior surgeons in other parts of the country have read portions of it. I want to see how it strikes a man not too many years out of medical school.”

“I’m honored.”

“One thing.” The eyes held him again. “I want none of our staff men told about this. I can’t have my working hours rationed because of my condition. I can’t afford the time.”

God, he thought, what do I say to that? But it was unnecessary to say anything, because Longwood nodded and drew himself out of the chair.

“Good night, sir,” Adam said.

The Old Man didn’t seem to hear.