Mac and I were in a building (possible a railroad station). He was deploring his poor golf game. We discussed the Biological Survey as a training school for young scientists. He said much criticism had been voiced because the Survey men were not publishing enough -- I thought the service done by giving men a broad and sound training was of greater value than published papers would be and anyway a man must work a considerable period in any profession before he knows enough to make publication worth while.He told story of a Survey field man who was asked to describe the degree of his contentment and happiness. The man said, "I'll let my stenographer answer that." Mac and I laughed heartily over this spicy joke. As he was leaving I accompanied him to the doorway where another man (apparently the stocky, dark-skinned book dealer I had seen that afternoon) was about ready to leave. I said to Mac., in low tone (so this man couldn't hear), "Just imagine how insignificant a poor golf game is to some calamity like loss of reasoning power." As he walked away, Mac. looked back twice, and I waved, but I was somewhat uncomfortable because I sensed his disapproval in his looks or actions -- evidently because of my indiscretion in saying what I did at the door.