"But," I again objected. "I remember, when studying biology, that I had to make many drawings through a microscope, using a camera-lucida for the purpose. The arrangement I used consisted of a small prism, and virtually reflected the image of the object on the slide upon a sheet of paper upon the table, so that I could see my pencil and the image at the same time, and merely had to draw the lines and fill in the details as though tracing a picture already there. Isn't it possible that this Manabinite prism acts as an exaggerated camera-lucida?"
Ramon smiled indulgently, half pityingly. "You forget," he replied, "that the camera-lucida of your microscope did not magnify the object you were studying. The objective or lens did that, and the camera merely shifted the image in the eyepiece to a paper below it. Now here is another most remarkable quality or property of this Manabinite prism. The ordinary lens, even the camera-lucida you mentioned, is a projector. If you place a sheet of paper back of a lens—at the same distance from it where your eye would secure a focal image, a refracted or projected image will appear upon the paper. But, in this case, no such projected image appears. See here!"
As he spoke, he held a sheet of writing paper, back of the Manabinite, moving it backwards and forwards, but it remained white, with no trace of the image I could so plainly see with my eyes.
I actually gasped. But more astonishing revelations were to come. "Now please stand back of the paper," said Ramon. "You are convinced that no image is projected upon the sheet; but what do you see now?"
"Good Heavens!" I ejaculated. "The paper has vanished! I can see the image; I can see your hand. But what's become of the paper?"
"That." chuckled Professor Amador, "is more than I can tell you. All I know is that certain tissues— mostly inorganic, but a few of organic origin, seem to vanish when placed within the range of the projected waves or lines of electronic movement produced by the prism. My hand or yours, our bodies, leather, almost any animal matter in fact, remains unchanged no matter where it is placed. But paper, wood, any metal or mineral I have tried, cloth, and numerous other substances, become as transparent—or as invisible—as glass or even air. The phenomenon, of course, has direct connection with the interruption and alteration of waves of electronic force, but just why some materials should be affected and others not, is something of a problem. However, it is not without precedent. Radium for example, or rather its radioactive emanations, pass through nearly all substances, but do not pass through lead. Metals, water, etc., are so-called conductors of electricity, but rubber, wood and other substances insulate it. Water will pass through cloth, paper, even through wood, but not through metals, rubber and other materials. Even—"
"Here, here!" I exclaimed. "That's an entirely different matter. The cloth, paper, etc., are porous— loosely put together, as I might say, and the water passes through the minute openings between the fibers."
"Exactly," chuckled Ramon. "Exactly for the same reason that electricity passes through some substances and not through others; exactly as light passes through some materials and is excluded by others; exactly as heat passes through some objects and not through others. And why? Merely because the materials which allow electrical, light, heat, or other waves to pass through them are, as you put it 'porous' or loosely put together, in so far as their electronical arrangement is concerned, whereas others that bar the same waves are too dense in their electronical compositions to permit the waves passing between the electrons or atoms. Perhaps I may make myself more easily understood if I take the liberty of comparing, say a sheet of hard rubber, to a wall built up of loose but closely fitted stones, while a similar wall, composed of large irregular stones with large spaces between them, may represent the sheet of copper. Now, if we compare an electrical current, or more properly an electrical discharge, to a charge of shot, and fire this at the wall of closely-fitted stones, none of the shot will pass through the barrier. But, if it is fired at the other wall, the shot will pass through between the stones. In each case, I might add, the stones and the shot are analogous with electrons. Now, amigo mio, my theory—mind you, it is a theory and nothing else—is that the emanations of electrons absorbed and thrown out in magnified form by this Manabinite prism, are so altered that the properties of ordinary electrons, as we understand them, are completely upset. In other words, the ratio of the electrons to other substances when issuing from the prism is not the same as the ratio of the electrons to similar substances under normal conditions. And—you will no doubt scoff at this—I firmly believe that, with a little more experimenting, I can devise a Manabinite prism which will so magnify the electronical waves, that an atom will be made visible!"
"Now, I am sure your overwork has affected your brain," I declared. "For Heaven's sake, Ramon, drop all this. Be satisfied with what you have accomplished and don't let the thing get you. How can any invisible thing be made visible? You're talking nonsense, man."
“A week or two ago," said Ramon slowly and thoughtfully, "I should have considered any man mad who dared state that the results we see before us would be possible. And when you speak of things as 'invisible' you are talking from a circumscribed and narrow viewpoint, and in comparative terms only. Unquestionably many things invisible to human beings are plainly visible to other creatures—the infra-red and ultra-violet rays for example. Our eyes are very crude, very inadequate and generally degenerated organs, and yet we have the effrontery to declare that anything that our poor, purblind eyes cannot discern is invisible!
"Why, amigo mio," he continued, "what is visible to one man may be totally invisible to another. We do not even know if you and I see the same thing when we look at the same object. You state an object is green, I agree with you; but no one can be sure that green as I call it looks the same to me as does the green you see. Nothing in human senses varies much more than eyesight and yet, so egotistical, so self-important, so cocksure of himself is man, that he cannot believe in what he does not see, and declares, like yourself, that anything—an atom for instance, is invisible. And I would like you to explain, if you can, why or how an atom— even an electron—can be invisible in the true sense of the word? Every substance, as you must admit in the light of latter-day science, is composed of electrons and protons. If protons and electrons are truly, scientifically, invisible, how can any number of invisible atoms form a visible mass? No, no, my archeological friend, we cannot see atoms or electrons merely for the very excellent reason that, individually, they are too minute for our eyes to detect. But magnify them ten thousand, fifty thousand, one hundred thousand diameters and who can say they will not be visible. And I see no reason why, with a little labor and experimenting, perhaps by a series of step-ups, so to say, perhaps by altering the angles, a Manabinite prism may not be made which will render atoms visible. To accomplish that marvel shall be my object in life henceforth. If the rainy season arrives, I shall continue my experiments in the United States. But we have at least a month more here. Before the expiration of that time, I hope to be able to prove to you that I am as sane as ever, and I hope to let you view the atomic structure of some well-known object."
"Ramon," I said, slapping him on the back. "You are a wonder. You are, without doubt, the greatest physicist in the world. You have made a most astounding discovery. But I am afraid that you have undertaken more than you bargained for this time. However, I wish you the best of luck. And," I added with a laugh, "when you succeed, let me have a peep at a real live atom."
CHAPTER VI
Many a true word is spoken in jest, as I soon learned, and little did I dream how soon I should be permitted to look upon a living atom. But I am getting ahead of my story.
The time was rapidly approaching when we would be forced to leave. I had already ceased my excavatory work and was busy with my peons packing my accumulated specimens and preparing for our departure, when Ramon, his wide eyes and his exited mien speaking of some great event, rushed to me, seized me by the arm, and fairly dragged me to his laboratory.
"At last!"
he cried, "Gracias a Dios, amigo mio, I am successful! At last, at the eleventh hour, at the very moment when I had abandoned hope, I accomplished the miracle! It terrifies me; it is too wonderful, too amazing! But you shall see for yourself!"
Unable to believe him, thinking he was grossly exaggerating his progress, I entered his workshop.
Resting upon a specially devised stand upon his table was a large mass of Manabinite, a much larger piece than I had thought existed. I learned later that this was formed by fitting together a number of smaller pieces. Its form was that of the prism (I call it prism for want of a better term, though it was a many-angled, complex form in reality) and, even in the brief glance I took, I noticed that it seemed to be surrounded with a peculiar nimbus or haze which, while it could not be called visible, was still discernible, (a rather paradoxical statement) and which was similar in its appearance to the undulating masses of heated air that one sees rising above hot roads or sands. It was, in fact, exactly as if the Manabinite was almost red hot. But I scarcely had time to note this and I had no time to give it any thought or attention, for Ramon had dragged me to a spot back of the apparatus.
"Look!" he cried excitedly. "Look, my friend, and gaze at what no other living man but myself has ever seen!"
At first I could see nothing, nothing but that same waving, undulating vapor, and then slowly, as though a thin veil or a film of smoke was being drawn aside, I saw a startling sight. Before my wondering unbelieving eyes was a deep unfathomable blue, composed of thousands, millions, trillions perhaps, of pale-blue globular objects; translucent, with radiating internal lines; objects that reminded me of globular jelly-fishes, and each and every one whirling, rotating upon its axis and about each of its fellows. Never have I seen or dreamed of such motion, such a mad turmoil, such an inextricable, confused rush of bodies. And yet, as I gazed transfixed, wondering what marvel I was seeing, I noticed that there was no confusion, no variation in the movements of the things; they never collided, never touched, never varied a millionth of an inch from their courses. Ramon was fairly dancing with delight at my evident amazement.
"Now do you say 'impossible'?" he shouted. "Now do you say the atom is invisible?"
"Do you mean those creatures are atoms?" I demanded, without shifting my eyes from the fascinating scene before me. "To me they appear more like the highly magnified inhabitants of a drop of swamp water."
"Scoffer, unbeliever!" he cackled. "You are looking upon atoms—upon the atoms composing a bit of blue cloth. I chose cloth because the atomic arrangement is fairly open. In a denser material—in stone or metal —I feared the atoms might not be visible, But I know now it makes no difference how they are arranged. And watch!" he cried, "behold the wonder of atomic behavior!"
As he spoke, he picked up a large reading glass and focussed the sun upon the table in front of the Manabinite. Instantly the strange moving blue globules redoubled their speed. Like a flock of birds striving to escape from a swooping hawk, they rushed madly hither and thither. Rapidly, before my staring eyes, they began to vanish, until their numbers had been reduced to at least half, and there were wide voids between those that remained.
"That is the result of heat," cried Ramon. "I heated the cloth slightly and its fibers 'expanded' as we so crudely put it. And now for the opposite extreme. Watch the result of cooling!"
As if by magic, the globules—or atoms, as I must call them, for I could no longer doubt my friend's assertions—materialized from nowhere, came rushing into view, until, in a few seconds, they were so closely packed, that I expected momentarily to witness a collision; I held my breath, for somewhere, in some forgotten corner of my brain, I remembered that scientists averred, the collision of two atoms might disrupt the world. Now the atoms were moving more slowly, slipping past one another, rotating around one another so closely packed that no visible spaces lay between them.
Was it possible, I thought, that my own flesh, my own body, the table beside me, my clothing—everything—was really made up of these tiny, globular jellyfish like objects? It seemed incredible, impossible, despite my companion's rapid-fire explanations, exclamations and dissertations. My mind was detached, I scarcely heard, and certainly did not comprehend, what he was saying, and my every sense was centered on the amazing sight before me and I was striving to convince myself, to believe that I actually was looking at atoms.
But there are some things which the ordinary human mind cannot grasp all at once, and my mind—which I flatter myself is slightly above the average—could not, assimilate this marvel. Despite Ramon's assurances, despite the evidence of my own senses, I could not help feeling that it was unreal, that I was looking at some fantastic, imaginary picture.
For hours, we two watched with breathless interest as Professor Amador experimented with various substances before his astonishing apparatus. We observed the atomic structures of stones, wood, metal, paper; but, for some inexplicable reason, which Ramon confessed was utterly beyond his comprehension, the prisms failed to reveal the atoms in any substance of animal origin. Ramon's hand, when placed before the prism, showed merely as an enormously magnified hand. Leather remained leather, though the minute pits left by the hairs appeared like the craters of extinct volcanoes, and where there were woolen threads in a bit of cloth, there were great vacant opaque spaces between the gyrating atoms of the cotton threads. In fact, just as the first prism had failed to project the images of anything of an animal nature, although it would project the image of almost anything else, so this remarkable apparatus failed to develop its astonishing properties when animal matter was placed before it.
"It has something to do with the vibratory waves of animal tissue," declared Ramon, when at last, we wearied of our experiments. "But," he added, "I will solve that puzzle also, And I am going much farther, my friend. There are no limits, no bounds to the possibilities of my discovery. I said I would render atoms visible. I have done so. Before I finish, I shall render electrons visible, too."
In vain I argued with him. He had, figuratively speaking, gone mad on the subject and, like most scientific men, nothing would satisfy him until he had pursued his experiments to the very limit. By that I do not mean to scoff at or belittle scientists. I am, or consider myself, a scientist also, but archeology is a comparatively exact science, and experiments do not enter into it, whereas in Ramon's case—and in the case of various other branches of science—experimental work is the predominant factor. Had Ramon been content to rest on his laurels, to be satisfied with the discoveries he had made—which Heaven knows were marvelous and astounding enough—the events which followed never would have occurred, and Professor Amador would still have been with us.
Although I knew that it was high time for us to be leaving, yet I could not desert my companion and, as the rains appeared to be holding off, I decided to be patient, to humor Ramon for a time in the hopes that he would soon weary of his fruitless attempts, or would come to his senses, and I occupied my time very profitably by writing up my notes, drafting a summary of my observations and conclusions, and preparing my monograph on the Manabi cultural development.
Meanwhile Ramon worked under his usual high pressure, but, from what I could gather from the rather meager information he volunteered, he made no progress towards his goal. He did, however, make another discovery which he considered of great importance, namely, that by slightly altering the planes or angles of his prism, he could greatly vary the magnifying power of the Manabinite. The same piece of mineral, or rather the combined pieces, could, in this way, be made to reveal atoms or could be used to magnify an object only a few diameters, at will. Every grade of magnification between the two extremes was possible, and Ramon had contrived a very delicate and ingenious device for altering the magnifying powers of his prism. In other words, the prism was, when equipped with this apparatus, capable, of being focussed. At least that was what it amounted to, although he gave it some other technical term, which has slipped my mind. But, try, as he would, he could not de
vise a method of increasing the magnifying powers beyond a certain point, the point, in fact, at which the atoms became visible.
"But it can be done," he insisted. "If the power of Manabinite can be increased from almost nil to hundreds of thousands of diameters, there is no scientific reason why that power should not be capable of being increased still farther—to an unlimited extent even."
I snorted. "There may be no scientific reason," I remarked, "but neither is there any scientific reason why the Manabinite should not reveal atoms in animal matter as well as in other materials. Yet it does not."
"The trouble with you is," I continued, "that you are trying to apply the ordinary laws of nature and of science to a substance which—from my own observations and from yours—is most obviously extraordinary and is quite outside the pale of ordinary science or physics. Now, for Heaven's sake, drop your fruitless experiments, Ramon. Pack up your outfit and your amazing prism, gather up every bit of Manabinite there is, and come out of this. Then, if you wish, go on with your experiments in the States,—or in your own Peru if you wish, and spend the rest of your life at it, if it will make you any happier."
"I suppose you're right," he admitted regretfully. "But somehow, amigo mio, I have a strange, unaccountable and inexplicable feeling that if I leave here I shall never succeed. I suppose it's pure nonsense, but over and over again, I have been on the point of packing up; and each time was seized with a real fear, a dread, almost a terror—a premonition perhaps—that if I left this spot, a terrible disappointment—a catastrophe in fact, would result. You see," he smiled in that charming way he had, "the Indian blood in my veins is superstitious, or perhaps psychic, and at times it gains ascendency over my common sense. However, I have made up my mind. I shall begin packing at once."
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