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But, in searching blindly for this higher power, I grasped a greater discovery than any I had hoped for the power to isolate life from its bodily organism." "You have to keep the bottle carefully corked, I should imagine," laughed Ronald. "Not quite," said Herr Lebensfunke, joining in the laugh. "Life is not glue. My grand discovery is the life-magnet."
"Either, or both," answered Herr Lebensfunke. "Your identity will be something of a problem to you for a day or two." Aided by the old man, Ronald awkwardly got into the sleazy clothes that went with the exchange growing less and less at home each minute. He felt weak and sore; his head ached, and the wound left by the fresh amputation of his little finger throbbed angrily.
To his friendly response the door was opened half-wide, and Vögelein's blank, pretty face peeped through. Was Herr Lebensfunke at home? No; he had said that he wasn't at home; but then, she thought he was in the long room where mamma went to sleep. Could he be seen? No, she thought not; he was very tired, and, in her own Vögelein's opinion, he was going to sleep too, just as mamma did.
"It could be done, after the lapse of thousands of years," replied Herr Lebensfunke. "Place undiluted liquid carbon in that inner globe, keep the coil at a white heat, and if Adam had started the process, his heir-at-law would have a koh-i-noor to-day, and a nice lawsuit for its possession."
"As yet I have not created life of a higher grade than that of the lowest zoöphytes." "Do you claim to have done as much as that?" "It is not an idle claim," said Herr Lebensfunke, solemnly. "Look at this, if you doubt."
I'd like to know if I'm dreaming." "I can convince you better than by pins," replied Herr Lebensfunke. "Let me see that hand you hide so carefully." Ronald Wyde slowly drew it from his pocket, as reluctantly as though it were a grudged charity dole, and extended it to the old man. Its little finger was gone. "A defect that I am foolishly sensitive about," said he.
"I could do this," said Herr Lebensfunke, pausing on each word as if it were somewhat heavy, and had to be lifted out of his cramped chest by force; "I could draw your entity into that magnet, leaving you side by side with this corpse.
Herr Lebensfunke smiled feebly at this movement. "A subject received this morning from Berlin," he said, in answer to Wyde's look of inquiry. "A sad piece of extravagance, mein Herr a luxury to which I can rarely afford to treat myself." Ronald Wyde bent over the body and looked into its face. A rough, red face, that had seemingly seen forty years of low-lived dissipation.
Taking this up and glancing at its fly-leaf, he saw a name written in spidery German script, almost illegible from its shakiness "Max Lebensfunke." "Your name?" he asked. "Yes, mein Herr," answered the old man, taking the volume and caressing it like a live thing in his fumbling hands. "This book was given to me by the great Kant himself," he added.
Home he walked briskly, to be met under his flaming balcony by Lottchen's kindly afternoon greeting. How had mein Herr passed his Sabbath? she asked. "Quietly enough, Lottchen. I met an old philosopher in the God's-Acre, and went home with him to his shop. Have you ever heard of Herr Doctor Lebensfunke?" "Yes, mein Herr.
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