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Louis Pasteur opened his Pasteur Institute in 1888. A generous donation from Philo expressed gratitude not only for Pasteur's unparalleled contribution to the physical welfare of mankind, but also to Pasteur himself for his support of Bart and Dash.
Their work continued to unfold secrets of traditional Oriental medicine that consistently astonished Bart.
"What stuns me is that none of these techniques or remedies have been taught us in our medical education," he remarked to Dash one day. "In the West, we have learned nothing of needle and pressure treatments, nor of the application or ingestion of natural, herbal remedies. That sort of thing is relegated to the witches in Shakespeare's Macbeth. Yet, our research has proved time and again that much of it is truly efficacious."
Speaking while he sat on a high stool, studying a culture of germ samples through a microscope, he glanced up to see if he had the attention of Dash. The Mongol had stopped his own work to lend rapt attention.
Bart put his hands on his knees and shook his head, looking his friend straight in the eye. "Then, when we read our papers at meetings or speak before the most brilliant doctors, we are laughed off the podium! Were it not for our association with Doctor Pasteur, they might stone us! I don't understand. Why are they like this?"
A faintly worried expression crept over Dash's face. "May I speak frankly, my friend?" he asked, timidly. "I do not wish you to think ill of me."
"By all means, speak frankly," urged Bart. "You were best man at my wedding. We've known each other for years. Why would you hesitate to speak openly?"
Still reluctant, Dash averted his eyes from Bart's. "Because I am not white. You cannot imagine how I was treated at Cambridge in England when I matriculated there before coming to Edinburgh. You...you were the first...white man...to accord me respect as an equal. Before I met you, I had learnt through hard experience to keep my thoughts to myself around whites. Because of you, I dared to send Doctor Pasteur my findings about silkworm disease."
His gaze drifted back to Bart. "Here, you and I have been colleagues in every way. You have never treated me as a 'coolie' or a 'wog.' I was called both at Cambridge. I have never detected racial bias in you."
Bart sighed. "We can thank Annie for that. She taught me early in life to look at the inner person. I remember when I ever dared make a deprecating remark about anyone, black or white, she would say sharply, 'Little Bart, you're lookin' at the wrong cat!' She was telling me that every human being has value, if we will but recognize it. I've never considered you as an 'Oriental' - a Mongolian, yes - but not as a 'yellow' man or as a 'coolie.' I've never thought of myself as a 'white' man, either."
The warmth of sharing hearts in friendship swept over them. Their closeness had never been more satisfying.
"This brings us to why, I think, Westerners manifest no interest in the ways Orientals practice medicine, or simply belittle it," offered Dash. "They firmly believe that an inferior race of coolies - and that means every non-white from Egypt to Japan - is incapable of producing anything of note. Only the white man is both civilized and smart enough to contribute to the advancement of mankind."
Bart shook his head in disgust. "If advancement is the Opium Wars and the economic enslavement of nearly all the nations in Asia, then the white man scores the highest marks! Perhaps we are talking less about stupidity than about cupidity, a consuming greed for wealth, at any cost!"
Dash smiled. "Bart, someday I will take you to my country. I think you might find it interesting. It is unlike anything you have ever known."
Bart returned to his microscope. "Maybe someday, my friend, but right now, let's get back to work. Perhaps we can develop something that will wake up the West to the power of Oriental medicine."
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