Fenswood and the Great Air Lens [pp. 250-256]

Overland Monthly
as we would a valley from a hill-top; we
shall know absolutely. And the stars, and
the nebulae,-who can say what they will
reveal? And ultimate space,-Good Heavens! what shall we see? " he asked, coming abruptly to a full stop and facing me
with glowing countenance.
I was myself now stirred out of my
usual equanimity; his words were so earnest, so luminous and convincing, that
even my dull imagination was aflame. My
faith in his ability was unbounded. For
the moment the thing was done, and I
soared with him in the wildest flights. He
still grasped the paper in his hand.
"Now, let us go over this again," he
said, and proceeded to read the article
aloud, carefully noting all the scientific
data, given in technical terms, as to the
kind and strength of current used, the
apparatus, etc. When he had finished he
leaned back in deep thought. I sat in
silence, watching the earnest face, now
alight with enthusiasm, my thoughts still
running in the unaccustomed channels
into which they had been directed by his
vehement words.
"Now, old man," he said at length, rising, "amuse yourself for a bit. I shall
start in at once by reproducing the original
experiment." And thereupon he busied
himself with some apparatus at one of the
benches.
So I searched the books and. papers on
the table for something likely to interest
me, as I had often done before when he
had engrossed himself too deeply for conversation. I soon found something, and,
lighting a cigar, began to read comfortably.
A whirring sound shortly interrupted
me, and, looking up, I saw that he had
started a small dynamo.
"I fear I shall have to interrupt you,"
he observed, "as I must turn off the lights
for a time in order to perform the experiment." Going over to the bench, I saw
that he had arranged some electrical apparatus around an empty circular frame, in
front of which, on a stand, stood a small
stereopticon. He touched a button and we
were in darkness save for the flickering of
the dynamo's brushes, until he opened the
slide of the stereopticon, from which a
bright beam of light shot forth to the center of the frame.
I saw with surprise, however, that
through this frame the beam did not pass,
but instead there appeared beyond upon
the floor and wall of the room an incessantly shifting play of the most brilliant
colors, which changed places with such astonishing rapidity that it made me dizzy
to look at them.
"The refraction is unmistakable," he
cried, "as you can see for yourself. It is
obvious that the unsteadiness is caused by
the momentary variations of the current,"
and for an hour or more we stood there
watching the play of the brilliantly colored light, while he, by many adjustments
of the apparatus and changes in the current, produced endlessly beautiful effects.
At length the lights were turned on again.
He brought out the decanters, and we discussed over our cigars the probable difficulties of the task to which he had so
enthusiastically set himself. He was of
the opinion that the first difficulty was the
unsteadiness of the current.
"You see," he said, "we are dealing
with almost incomprehensible velocities
and rates of vibration. The adjustment
must be absolute; a change which would
be imperceptible to our finest instruments
is plainly sufficient to destroy the equilibrium which must exist in the refracting
field. That shall be my first endeavor.
When that is gained, I shall feel myself
well on the road to success." As it was
now late, and I was to return to town
next morning, I shortly retired to the
room reserved for my use in the wing of
the laboratory, leaving him to his accustomed midnight vigil.
Needless to say, during the ensuing
week I waited expectantly for news of progress or success, but none came, and on my
next visit he had nothing to report save
steady effort, and thus it went on for some
weeks. He was devoting himself to the
work with such assiduity that his health
was suffering. This became plainer and
plainer as the weeks wore on, and I finally
asserted myself to such good purpose that,
the time of year being early summer, I got
him out for a week's fishing, which we
spent at my father's place in Westmoreland. The change of daily scene and
trend of thought straightened him up
wonderfully; the color came back to his
face and his old fire and vim returned to
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