‘I am too modest!’ snapped the great Haskel van Manderpootz, pacing irritably about the limited area of his private laboratory, glaring at me the while. ‘That is the trouble. I undervalue my own achievements, and thereby permit petty imitators like Corveille to influence the committee and win the Morell prize.’ ‘But, ‘ I said soothingly, ‘you’ve won the Morell physics award half a dozen times, professor. They can’t very well give it to you every year.’ ‘Why not, since it is plain that I deserve it?’ bristled the professor. ‘Understand, Dixon, that I do not regret my modesty, even though it permits conceited fools like Corveille, who have infinitely less reason than I for conceit, to win awards that mean nothing save prizes for successful bragging. Bah! To grant an award for research along such obvious lines that I neglected to mention them, thinking that even a Morell judge would appreciate their obviousness! Research on the psychon, eh! Who discovered the psychon? Who but van Manderpootz?’
‘Wasn’t that what you got last year’s award for?’ I asked consolingly. ‘And after all, isn’t this modesty, this lack of jealousy on your part, a symbol of greatness of character?’
‘True—true!’ said the great van Manderpootz, mollified. ‘Had such an affront been committed against a lesser man than myself, he would doubtless have entered a bitter complaint against the judges. But not I. Anyway, I know from experience that it wouldn’t do any good. And besides, despite his greatness, van Manderpootz is as modest and shrinking as a violet.’ At this point he paused, and his broad red face tried to look violet-like…
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