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Page 47
We admitted our inability to deny its truth.
"'Well, then,' I reasoned, looking at the subject on the reverse side,
'could an additional portion of ether be created, there would be in
space no place to receive it; the universe in its present state--a state
in which what we term matter or substance exists--would just simply
cease to exist--instantly, and within the compass of every star and
planet.'
"But how to create that particle of ether--that was what occupied my
mind for weeks. I would seem to grasp the hint that came and went within
the recesses of a brain which--so say my friends--has perhaps never had
its equal for variety of conception and rapid response to the slightest
external or internal stimulus. Now, many physicists suppose matter to be
simply a form of ether--plainly, that matter originated out of
ether--was made from ether; so that, after all, the universe was created
from nothing--that is, nothing if we correctly define matter. It was but
a step for me, then, to the end: remove all radiant energy from a fixed
gas--a gas without the property of condensation to another form of
matter, _i.e._, to a fluid or a solid--and the thing, I said to myself,
is done. I am positive that I know of such a gas, and within a few years
all physicists will recognize it. At present the method of procuring it
is my secret, as I may still wish to experiment with what is now but a
theoretical discovery, though certain to unfold in practice exactly as I
have explained it. You understand, of course, that I remove from my gas,
by artificial cold and compression, the last vestige of heat, my gas
becomes ether, there is no place for it in the universal ocean of
inexpansible ether, the balance of the universe as it now exists is
destroyed, all matter instantly ceases to exist, and we just sit back
and wait for a few billions of trillions of cycles of time, until
another system of nature is formed."
For a time we all kept silence: Doctor Bainbridge, I suppose, like
myself, marvelling at the peculiarities of our strange companion. At
last I said:
"And how about the war, doctor?"
"Now comes the humiliation!" he replied. "Oh, must genius ever grovel at
the feet of mere physical power--insolent official power! Why are great
men so difficult of access! Why, in 1453, did not Constantine in his day
of trouble listen to your brainy countryman, and save Europe from the
inroads of the Turk? Well, I hastened to Washington City, determined
that no ear other than the President's own should hear the secret; and
that no power on earth should draw it from me. I went to the White
House. I admit that war-times are busy times--but those infernal White
House flunkies kept me waiting in the reception-rooms for four hours! I
told my plans to the ushers, to a waiting soldier or two, and to a
foreign diplomat with whom I struck up a talk. All of them acted
suspiciously, and I believe were jealous of my wisdom. When, for the
third time, an usher took my card--or pretended to take my card--to the
President, his secretary came down to me. At first I told him that my
secret was for the President's ear alone; but at last I gave him a clew
to the nature of my business. He left me, but he did not return. Such is
reflected political power. But I thought of my power--aye, and physical
power, too--the only real power. I never blamed the President--I to this
day believe that that fellow H---- never told Lincoln of my visit to the
White House."
After an appreciative murmur and movement on the part of Bainbridge and
myself--for we felt like laughing, and yet sighs of wonderment were
expected by Castleton--and after a grunt from Arthur in his corner, I
asked, for want of something better to say,
"Were you ever in the army, doctor?"
"Well--ah--no--yes--no, sir; not exactly," Castleton replied. "But I had
a younger brother who beat the drum for a whole week in an
enlisting-office tent in Chicago. Poor boy! he died of brain fever in
1869--always a genius--great brain.--And this talk reminds me that I am
getting no pension from the United States Government on that poor,
neglected, sacrificed boy. Curse my thoughtlessness! Yes, and--but no: I
belong to the old school of patriots--I will not curse my country."
As Castleton uttered the last sentence, he approached the door of exit
to the hall. He had as usual been pacing the floor; and with the closing
word he shot into the hall and was gone. And as the sound of his
footsteps rang through the corridors of the hotel, Arthur remarked, from
his corner:
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