«Poor Craig,» they had said to one another. «Such a decent chap. And so young, too.»
They would have been consoling.
«He’ll come out of it,» they’d said. «It’s just temporary.»
And they had been quite smug about it, no doubt, sure that it was the sort of thing that would never happen to any one of them.
The counselor was kind and helpful and Craig could see at a glance that he was a man well satisfied and that he liked his work.
«Seventy-five,» he said. «That is not good, is it, Mr. Craig?»
«Not, it’s not,» said Craig.
«You are engaged in something?» asked the counselor and he simpered just a little, a professional, polished simper that said he knew that Craig was, of course, but he had to ask.
«History,» said Craig.
«Oh,» said the counselor. «A most engaging subject. I have known a number of gentlemen who were quite wrapped up in history.»
«I specialize,» said Craig. «One acre.»
«Acre?» asked the counselor, not a little puzzled. «I’m not quite sure …»
«The history of one acre,» Craig told him. «Trace it back, you know, with a temporal viewer. Hour to hour, day to day. Record in detail, and with appropriate comment and deduction, everything that transpired upon the acre.»
«Most novel,» said the counselor. «I’ve never heard of it before.»
«You do some screwy things,» said Craig.
«Screwy?»
«Well, you strive for effect. You try to be spectacular, but spectacular in a scholarly way, if you understand.»
«Yes, I am sure I do,» the counselor said, «and yet it seems to me that the study of one acre of the Earth’s surface is quite legitimate. There have been others who have limited their studies. There have been histories of families and of cities and of certain rather obscure causes and of the development and evolution of such commonplace things as teapots and coffee cups and antimacassars and such like.»
«Yes,» said Craig, «that is exactly what I thought.»
«Tell me, Mr. Craig,» asked the counselor, «have you run across anything spectacular on your … ah, acre?»
«I have traced the growth of trees,» said Craig. «Backwards, you know. From decaying giants to saplings, from saplings to seed. It is quite a trick, this backward tracing. It is a bit confusing, but soon you get used to it. I swear you finally get so that you think in reverse. And then, of course, I have kept a record of birds’ nests and the birds themselves. There’s one old lame robin that was quite a character. And flowers, naturally. And the action of the elements on boulders and soil. And weather. I have a fine record of the weather over several thousand years.»
«Most interesting,» said the counselor.
«There was a murder, too,» said Craig, «but it happened just outside the boundary line, so I can’t actually include it in the study. The murderer, however, did run across the acre after he committed the deed.»
«A murder, Mr. Craig?»
«Exactly,» said Craig. «One man killed another, you understand.»
«How ghastly,» said the counselor.
«I suppose it would be,» admitted Craig. «But it was done, you know. The records are filled with murders.»
«Anything else?»
«Not yet,» said Craig, «although I have some hope. I found some old foundations.»
«Buildings?»
«Yes, of buildings. Go back far enough and I’m bound to find the buildings before they went to ruin. That might be interesting. There might be people in them. One of the foundations looked like a residence. Had what appeared to be the footing for a fireplace.»
«You might hurry it up a bit,» suggested the counselor. «Get there a little faster. People are most interesting.»
Craig shook his head. «To make the study valid, I must record in detail. I can’t slight the detail to get what’s interesting.»
The counselor managed to look sorrowful.
«With such an interesting project,» he said, «I can’t understand why your rating should go down.»
«I realized,» said Craig, «that no one would care. I would spend years at the study and I would publish my findings and I would give copies to my friends and acquaintances and they would thank me and put the book up on the shelf and never take it down again. I would deposit copies in libraries and you know yourself that no one ever goes to libraries. The only one who would ever read the thing would be myself.»
«Surely, Mr. Craig,» comforted the counselor, «there are other men who have found themselves in a like position. And they have managed to remain relatively happy and contented.»
«That is what I’ve told myself,» said Craig, «but it doesn’t work for me.»
«We could go into many of the closer aspects of the case,» said the counselor, «but I think we should leave that until some future time if it proves necessary. We’ll just hit the high points now. Tell me, Mr. Craig, are you fairly well convinced that you cannot continue to be happy with your acre?»
«Yes,» said Craig, «I am.»
«Not conceding for a moment,» said the counselor, with dogged determination, «that your statement to that effect closes our avenue of investigation in that direction, tell me this: Have you considered an alternative?»
«An alternative?»
«Why, certainly. Some other line of work that might prove happier. I have counseled a number of gentlemen who changed their line of work and it has proved for the best.»
«No,» said Craig. «I haven’t the least idea what I might go into.»
«There are a number of openings,» said the counselor. «Almost anything you wish. There’s snail watching, for example.»
«No,» said Craig.
«Or stamp collecting,» said the counselor. «Or knitting. A lot of gentlemen knit and find it very soothing.»
«I don’t want to knit,» said Craig.
«You could make money.»
«What for?» asked Craig.
«Well, now,» the counselor said, «that is something I’ve often wondered, too. There’s no need of it, really. All you have to do to get money is go to a bank and ask for some of it. But there are men who actually set out to make money and, if you ask me, they use some rather shady methods. But be that as it may, they seem to get a great deal of satisfaction doing it.»
«What do they do with it once they get it?» asked Craig.
«I wouldn’t know,» the counselor told him. «One man buried it and then forgot where he buried it and he remained happy the rest of his life running around with a lantern and a shovel looking for it.»
«Why the lantern?»
«Oh, I forgot to tell you that. He never hunted it in daylight. He hunted in the night.»
«Did he ever find it?»
«Come to think of it,» the counselor said, «I don’t believe he did.»
«I don’t think,» said Craig, «that I’d care for making money.»
«You might join a club.»
«I belong to a club,» said Craig. «A very fine old club. One of the very finest. Some of the best names and its history runs back to …»
«That’s not the kind of club I mean,» the counselor said. «I mean a group of persons who work for something or who have special interests in common and band themselves together for the better enjoyment of those mutual interests.»
«I doubt,» said Craig, «that a club would be the answer.»
«You might get married,» the counselor suggested.
«What! You mean to one woman?»
«That is what I mean.»
«And raise a bunch of kids?»
«Many men have done it,» said the counselor. «They have been quite satisfied.»
«It seems,» said Craig, «on the face of it, just a bit obscene.»
«There are many other possibilities,» the counselor told him. «I can just run through a partial list of them and see if there is anything you might care to think about.»