You don't know what day this is."
Thiel looked at him inquiringly.
"My birthday," said Linden mournfully.
"Why, to be sure," cried Thiel, "let me see, what one is it?"
"No number," interrupted Linden quickly, covering his friend's mouth with
his hand.
"You're worse than a coquette," remarked Thiel, pushing his hand away.
He had had "an old coquette" on the tip of his tongue, but suppressed the
adjective. "A man can speak of his age without regret, when he is only
in the mid-forties."
"Not yet the middle, I beg of you," Linden eagerly protested, "I am
forty-four years old to-day."
Thiel smiled. "Well, I wish you many happy----"
Linden did not let him finish. "Happiness! Happiness! Is there any
happiness after youth is over?"
"Everything depends upon what is meant by happiness."
Linden did not seem to hear what Thiel was saying, but pursued his own
train of thought. "How futile your science is! You find a bacillus
here, a ptomain there. What use is that to me? None! Teach me how to
keep young forever, then I shall have some respect for your staring into
your beloved microscope.
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