that some days his outrageous mistress wore breeches beneath her skirts.
“Give me a man’s saddle today,” I told him. “And every day hereafter.”
“Yes, miss,” he said and turned back to the stable. “Very good, miss.”
I could see the boy was smiling.
Bones of Contention
The scientific lecture hall at Cambridge was magnificent. Oak paneling rose to the high, elaborately carved ceiling, and its black horsehair chairs set within the steeply curved gallery afforded the large, murmuring crowd a perfect view of the still-empty podium and exhibits below.
Father had secured the best seats for us near the bottom center, but he was, at the moment, deeply engaged in heated conversation with several of Oxford’s morphology lecturers.
The Fourth International Congress of Zoology was an enormous affair. Peppered around the chamber I recognized some of the preeminent scientific minds of the day—from not only Britain and America but the Continent as well. There were fellows of the Royal Geographical Society, nobles, professors, military men, and a smattering of clergy. There was Sir Francis Galton who believed in the existence of a natural elite in mankind; a physiologist of note, Professor Sayle; and Mr. MacColl, the editor of the Athenæum. It was a distinguished crowd indeed.
I peered around, curious to see who from Cambridge had come. The whole of the biology, zoology, geology, and chemistry departments were there, lecturers and students from the college of comparative anatomy. Most of my cohorts from the human dissection laboratory had come, and I had to smile noticing that Woodley (who was “studying to be a physician, not a fossil hunter”) and a rather smug-looking Mr. Cartwright had made an appearance.
A small crowd was gathered around the table set to one side of the podium upon which the precious Java man bones were displayed. “Bones of contention,” some called them, and the black-frock-coated men surrounding the specimens were, I could see by their posture and gesticulations, already in heated debate as to their worth.
Mr. Shaw, the laboratory servant who apparently possessed skills beyond those of the anatomy laboratory, was at the base of the center aisle fussing with the episcope, a recent innovation that allowed opaque materials, such as book pages, drawings, mineral specimens, and leaves, to be projected onto a screen behind the lecturer. Cambridge was very proud of its episcope, and hardly a serious discourse was held anymore without it being employed.
A fellow of Trinity College with a loud ringing voice called the meeting to order, and we all took our seats. Father sat down beside me looking a bit red in the face with his jaw set hard as it always was when he was angry. “Eugène is not going to have an easy time of it,” he whispered.
“Did you ever think otherwise?”
Father sighed. “Scientists are among the most pigheaded people alive. Wouldn’t you think it should be just the opposite?”
Now Harold Gardiner, dean of Trinity College, a man whose heavily veined florid face betrayed his love of drink, came to the fore. “Good afternoon. I’ll not waste any precious time with a long introduction. We all know our esteemed speaker. He was recently awarded the Prix Broca for outstanding achievement in anthropology, Professor Eugène Dubois.”
Tall and fair-haired, with a handsome face and open, rather hopeful expression, Father’s old friend strode into the room, taking his place at the podium to what could generously be called polite applause. He squared his broad shoulders, looking for all the world like a man hard-pressed to allow anyone to undermine his most dearly held convictions. I’d heard my father say that Eugène’s assertions about Pithecanthropus erectus, which he called P.e. for short, were something akin to a holy crusade, and from the fire in his eyes I knew this to be the whole truth.
“I am here to present my riverside findings at the Trinel site in Java,
“Give me a man’s saddle today,” I told him. “And every day hereafter.”
“Yes, miss,” he said and turned back to the stable. “Very good, miss.”
I could see the boy was smiling.
Bones of Contention
The scientific lecture hall at Cambridge was magnificent. Oak paneling rose to the high, elaborately carved ceiling, and its black horsehair chairs set within the steeply curved gallery afforded the large, murmuring crowd a perfect view of the still-empty podium and exhibits below.
Father had secured the best seats for us near the bottom center, but he was, at the moment, deeply engaged in heated conversation with several of Oxford’s morphology lecturers.
The Fourth International Congress of Zoology was an enormous affair. Peppered around the chamber I recognized some of the preeminent scientific minds of the day—from not only Britain and America but the Continent as well. There were fellows of the Royal Geographical Society, nobles, professors, military men, and a smattering of clergy. There was Sir Francis Galton who believed in the existence of a natural elite in mankind; a physiologist of note, Professor Sayle; and Mr. MacColl, the editor of the Athenæum. It was a distinguished crowd indeed.
I peered around, curious to see who from Cambridge had come. The whole of the biology, zoology, geology, and chemistry departments were there, lecturers and students from the college of comparative anatomy. Most of my cohorts from the human dissection laboratory had come, and I had to smile noticing that Woodley (who was “studying to be a physician, not a fossil hunter”) and a rather smug-looking Mr. Cartwright had made an appearance.
A small crowd was gathered around the table set to one side of the podium upon which the precious Java man bones were displayed. “Bones of contention,” some called them, and the black-frock-coated men surrounding the specimens were, I could see by their posture and gesticulations, already in heated debate as to their worth.
Mr. Shaw, the laboratory servant who apparently possessed skills beyond those of the anatomy laboratory, was at the base of the center aisle fussing with the episcope, a recent innovation that allowed opaque materials, such as book pages, drawings, mineral specimens, and leaves, to be projected onto a screen behind the lecturer. Cambridge was very proud of its episcope, and hardly a serious discourse was held anymore without it being employed.
A fellow of Trinity College with a loud ringing voice called the meeting to order, and we all took our seats. Father sat down beside me looking a bit red in the face with his jaw set hard as it always was when he was angry. “Eugène is not going to have an easy time of it,” he whispered.
“Did you ever think otherwise?”
Father sighed. “Scientists are among the most pigheaded people alive. Wouldn’t you think it should be just the opposite?”
Now Harold Gardiner, dean of Trinity College, a man whose heavily veined florid face betrayed his love of drink, came to the fore. “Good afternoon. I’ll not waste any precious time with a long introduction. We all know our esteemed speaker. He was recently awarded the Prix Broca for outstanding achievement in anthropology, Professor Eugène Dubois.”
Tall and fair-haired, with a handsome face and open, rather hopeful expression, Father’s old friend strode into the room, taking his place at the podium to what could generously be called polite applause. He squared his broad shoulders, looking for all the world like a man hard-pressed to allow anyone to undermine his most dearly held convictions. I’d heard my father say that Eugène’s assertions about Pithecanthropus erectus, which he called P.e. for short, were something akin to a holy crusade, and from the fire in his eyes I knew this to be the whole truth.
“I am here to present my riverside findings at the Trinel site in Java,
Similar Books
Savage Enchantment
Parris Afton Bonds
Dead Letter Day
Eileen Rendahl
Command and Control
Shelli Stevens
Deception
Evie Rose
Tourist Season
Carl Hiaasen
Red Sun Also Rises, A
Mark Hodder
Wildcatter
Dave Duncan
Prince Charming
Sara Celi