From day to day the salinity of the water was being
slowly altered, and this was only one of thousands of experiments he had
planned on the effect of changing conditions of life on the elemental
organisms.
Every day he was passing in review scores of slides on which the
elemental reaction to abnormal conditions was unfolding itself for his
observation. Each drop of water was a world where the vital spark was
struggling against the harshness of nature. Each drop of water embodied
a fight of primitive protoplasm against disease. Each drop of water was
contributing its tiny quota to the new book of knowledge he hoped one
day to give to his fellow-men.
Like all trained microscopists, Riviere worked with both eyes open. The
amateur observer has to screw one eye tight in order to avoid a
confusion of impressions, and quickly tires himself. The trained man
keeps both eyes open, and schools his brain to concentrate on the one
vision and ignore the other. He sees only the miniature world at the
further end of his complex of lenses.
But Riviere, self-controlled as he was, could not keep attention on his
experimental slide. The vision of the miniature world faded out, and
through the other eye came the impression of the outside of the polished
brass tube of the microscope; the glass slide beyond, lit up by the
reflector as though with a searchlight; and the plate-glass bench
mirroring the cases of specimens and the shelves of chemical reagents.
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