He pushed his anger down.
He should have been the one to find the bones. It should be his name on everything. Carnegie should be singinghispraises for his contributions to the world of paleontology, rather than relegating him to the insignificant work he did here.
Taking a swig of his coffee, he took a steadying breath. Plans changed. That was the way of life. And death. But his greatest strength was patience. He could be flexible. As long as the end result was the same, he could allow for some tweaks in his plans. He wasn’t so arrogant to believe that everything would always go exactly as he wanted it.
The timing had to be perfect. Once he had Mr. Andrew Carnegie behind him, the world would see.
Whenever he mentioned paleontology, the upper classwould no longer share jokes behind their hands and newspapers as they recalled the lack of integrity shown by Cope and Marsh.
Hewould be the new face of paleontology. As he rose to the top, the accolades and respect would come pouring in. The field of science would have prestige once again.
When his men in Wyoming finished excavating his finest specimen yet, it would have the largest display next to Carnegie’s beloved Dippy.
Yes, this could all be in his favor.
“Bring the crowds and hordes to view the dinosaur bones, Earl. Enjoy the ride while you can.” He spat the words at the paper and set it aside. Shuffling through his correspondence, he tossed several letters aside, then spied the one he had been waiting for.
There was news from Wyoming. Ripping the letter open, he scanned its contents. With a frustrated growl, he balled the paper up and threw it across the room.
Nothing was going his way.
He took a deep breath and stood, crossing the plush carpet of his office, and snatched the crinkled letter off the floor. Settling back down at his desk, he smoothed the missive and read it again.
Not good news, boss. The skeleton that was promising in the beginning has yielded no more bones from the quarry. We need more funds to expand the digging area—maybe we just haven’t looked far enough to the north yet. Awaiting your instructions. Please send telegram.—C
He plucked his glasses from the bridge of his nose and rubbed them with a cloth. Anger coursed through his veins. More money? He’d invested far too much already.
He glanced up at the clock. Ten minutes until he had tomeet with the junior paleontologists to begin a new display. Inhaling deeply, he worked to release his aggravation and then let out the air in his lungs with slow, pulsing breaths. Then he slid his glasses on, tucked the letter in his vest pocket, and stood. Work awaited. He grabbed his lab coat off the hook and slipped it on, making sure each lapel laid flat.
His ire had cooled. For now.
A few hours later, the late-spring wind tugged at his hat as he bounded down the steps of the Carnegie Institute toward home.
Finally, this wretched day was over. It would have been enough to learn about the impending disaster in Wyoming. But no. His junior paleontologists—the very men he had selected to help reach levels of brilliance under his tutelage—attempted to correct him about the placement of a spiked plate of theStegosaurus unglatusjust unboxed from the monument in Utah.
The nerve.
Still, his time with those two imbeciles hadn’t been a complete waste. The skeleton Douglass sent would need a few plaster casts done for the back left leg. A common practice among museums when skeletons were almost completely intact. No one wanted to see a dinosaur with three legs or a missing tail—
His eyes widened.
That was it!
So what if they didn’t have awholeskeleton. They could create what was missing out of plaster. And perhaps if they found a few other random bones where they were digging, they could be used to complete his new find. Maybe this was the best solution until he had more funds to expand the dig.
A voice shouted down to him. “Mr. Nelson!”
He cringed. Eliza Mills.
For months he’d had to endure the high-and-mighty lecturesof that woman. Why on earth Mr. Carnegie allowed her to stay on was beyond any sensible man’s comprehension.
He frowned, feigned he hadn’t heard a thing, and turned the collar of his coat up, tucking his chin down between the tweed fabric. The delicate work that they did required precision. Intense study.
Just because her grandfather was Carnegie’s friend should not have been enough to grant her a job. Much less keep it for this long. This was a man’s field. And that was plain fact.
Paleontology’s reputation needed to be restored, not ruined again. Adding a woman into the mix spelled disaster.
She called again, but it was cut off.
