But there was no point in bringing
that up. Johnny Simms beamed at both of them. He was the swimmer Babs
had pointed out in the swimming-pool. His face was completely unlined
and placid, like the face of a college undergraduate. He had never
worried about anything. He'd never had a care in the world. He merely
listened with placid interest.
"I take it," said Cochrane, "that you don't mind the test being made, so
long as you don't have to accept responsibility for its failure--and so
long as you get the credit for its success if it works. That's right,
isn't it?"
"If it fails, I am not responsible!" insisted Dabney stridently. "If it
succeeds, it will be because of my discovery."
Cochrane sighed a little. This was a shabby business, but Dabney would
have convinced himself, by now, that he was the genius he wanted people
to believe him.
"Before the test," said Cochrane gently, "you make a speech. It will be
recorded. You disclaim the crass and vulgar mechanical details and
emphasize that you are like Einstein, dealing in theoretic physics only.
That you are naturally interested in attempts to use your discovery, but
your presence is a sign of your interest but not your responsibility.
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