"This other vial contains pure nitrogen.
With enlarged apparatus, I can supply it by the trainload.

The world's fertilizer problem is solved!" "Great work!" ejaculated Waldron, even more excited than before, but Flint, his natural sourness asserting itself, merely growled some ungracious remark.
"Nitrogen can go hang," said he.

"It's oxygen we're after, primarily.
Once we get our grip on that, the world will be--" Waldron checked him just in time.
"Enough of this," he interrupted sharply.

"I admit, I'm not myself, in this rich atmosphere.

I know _you're_ feeling it, already, Flint.