The Power and the Glory - Charles Willard Diffin

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The Power and the Glory by Charles W. Diffin.

There were papers on the desk, a litter of papers scrolled over in the careless writing of indifferent students

with the symbols of chemistry and long mathematical computations.

The man at the desk pushed them aside to rest his lean, lined face on one thin hand.

The other arm, ending at the wrist, was on the desk before him.

Students of a great university had long since ceased to speculate about the missing hand.

The result of an experiment, they knew, a hand that was a mass of lifeless cells,

amputated quickly that the living arm might be saved.

But that was some several years ago, ancient history to those who came and went through Professor Eddinger's classroom.

And now Professor Eddinger was weary, weary and old, he told himself,

as he closed his eyes to shut out the sight of the interminable papers and the stubby wrist

that had ended forever his experiments of the delicate manipulations which only he could do.

He reached slowly for a buzzing phone, but his eyes brightened at the voice that came to him.

I've got it, I've got it!

The words were almost incoherent.

This is Avery, Professor Avery.

You must come at once. You will share in it.

I owe it all to you. You will be the first to see.

I'm sending a taxi for you."

Professor Eddinger's tired eyes crinkled to a smile.

Enthusiasm like this was rare among his youngsters,

but Avery, with the face of a poet, a dreamer's eyes and the mind of a scientist, good boy Avery,

a long time since he had seen him, had him in his own laboratory for two years.

"'What's this all about?' he asked.

"'No, no,' said a voice. I can't tell you. It is too big, greater than the induction motor,

greater than the electric light. It is the greatest thing in the world.

The taxi should be there now. You must come."

Enknock at the office door where a voice said,

"'Car for Professor Eddinger,' confirmed the excited words.

"'All comes,' said the professor, right away.

He pondered as the car whirled him across the city on what this greatest thing in the world might be,

and he hoped with gentle skepticism that the enthusiasm was warranted.

A young man opened the car door as they stopped. His face was flushed, Eddinger noted.

Hair pushed back and disarray. His shirt torn open at the throat.

"'Wait here,' he told the driver, and took the professor by the arm to hurry him into a dilapidated building.

"'Not much of a laboratory,' he said.

"'But we'll have better, you and I. We'll have better.'"

The room seemed bare with its meager equipment, but it was neat as became the best student of Professor Eddinger.

Rose of reagent bottles stood on the shelves, but the tables were a litter of misplaced instruments and broken glassware

where trembling hands had fumbled in heedless excitement.

Glad to see you again, Avery.

The gentle voice of Professor Eddinger had lost its tired tone.

"'It's been two years you've been working, I judge. Now what is this great discovery, boy? What have you found?'

The younger man, in whose face the color came and went, and whose eyes were shining from dark hollows that marked long days and sleepless nights,

still clung to the other's arm.

"'It's real,' he said.

"'It's great. It means fortune and fame, and you're in on that, Professor.

"'The old master,' he said, and clapped a hand affectionately upon a thin shoulder.

"'I owe it all to you, and now I have—I've learned—no, you shall see for yourself. Wait!'

He crossed quickly to a table. On it was in apparatus. The eyes of the older man widened as he saw it.

It was intricate, a maze of tubing. There was a glass bulb above, the generator of a cathode, right, obviously,

and electromagnets below and on each side.

Beneath was a crude sphere of heavy lead, a retort it might be, and from this there passed two massive insulated cables.

The understanding eyes of the Professor followed them, one to a terminal on a great insulating block upon the floor,

the other to a similarly protected terminal of carbon some feet above it in the air.

The trembling fingers of the young man made some few adjustments, then he left the instrument to take his place by an electric switch.

Stand back, he warned, and closed the switch. There was a gentle hissing from within glass tubes, the faint glow of a blue-green light,

and that was all, until, with a crash like the ripping crackle of lightning, a white flame arced between the terminals of the heavy cables.

It hissed ceaselessly through the air where now the tang of ozone was apparent.

The carbon blocks glowed with a brilliant incandescence when the flame ceased with the motion of a hand where every pull the switch.

The man's voice was quiet now.

You do not know yet what you have seen, but there was a tremendous potential there, an amperage I can't measure with my limited facilities.

He waved a deprecating hand about the ill-furnished laboratory, but you have seen his voice trembled and failed at the forming of the words.

The disintegration of the atom, said Professor Edinger quietly, and the release of power unlimited.

Did you use thorium, he inquired?

The other looked at him in amazement, then.

I should have known you would understand, he said humbly, and you know what it means, again his voice rose.

Power without end to do the work of the world, great vessels driven a lifetime on a mere ounce of matter,

a revolution in transportation, in living, he paused.

The liberation of mankind, he added, and his voice was reverent.

This will do the work of the world. It will make a new heaven and a new earth.

Oh, I have dreamed dreams, he exclaimed. I have seen visions, and it has been given to me, me, to liberate man from the curse of atom, the sweat of his brow.

I can't realize it even yet. I am not worthy.

He raised his eyes slowly in the silence to gaze and wondering astonishment at the older man.

There was no answering light, no exaltation on the lined face, only sadness in the tired eyes that looked at him and through him as if focused upon something in a dim future or past.

Don't you see? Asked the wondering man. The freedom of men, the liberation of a race, no more poverty, no endless grinding labor.

His young eyes, too, were looking into the future, a future of blinding light.

Culture, he said, instead of heartbreaking toil, a chance to grow mentally, spiritually.

It is another world, a new life. And again he asked, surely you see.

I see, said the other. I see plainly. The new world, said Avery. It dazzles me. It rings like music in my ears.

I see no new world. Was the slow response? The young face was plainly perplexed.

Don't you believe, he stammered? After you have seen, I thought you would have the vision. Would help me emancipate the world. Save it.

His voice failed. Men have a way of crucifying their saviors, said the tired voice.

The inventor was suddenly indignant.

You're blind, he said harshly. It is too big for you, and I would have had you stand beside me in the great work.

I shall announce it alone. There will be laboratories, enormous, and factories.

My invention will be perfected, simplified, compressed. A generator will be made.

Thousands of horsepower to do the work of a city, free thousands of men, made so small you can hold it in one hand.

The sensitive face was proudly a light, proud and a trifle arrogant. The exaltation of his coming power was strong upon him.

Yes, said Professor Eddinger, in one hand, and he raised his right arm that he might see where the end of a sleeve was empty.

I'm sorry, said the inventor abruptly. I didn't mean, but you will excuse me now. There was so much to be done.

But the thin figure of Professor Eddinger had crossed to the far table to examine the apparatus there.

Crude, he said beneath his breath. Crude, but efficient.

In the silence a rat had appeared in the distant corner. The Professor nodded as he saw it.

The animal stopped as the man's eyes came upon it, then sat squirrel-like on one of the shelves as it ate a crumb of food.

Some morsel from a hurried lunch of avories the Professor reflected. Poor avory.

Yes, there was much to be done. He spoke as much to himself as to the man who was now beside him.

It enters here, he said, and peered downward toward the lead bulb. He placed a finger on the side of the metal.

About here, I should think. Have you a drill and a bit of quartz?

The inventor's eyes were puzzled, but the assurance of his old instructor claimed obedience.

He produced a small drill and a fragment like broken glass, and he started visibly as the one hand worked

awkwardly to make a small hole in the side of the lead. But he withdrew his own restraining hand,

and he watched and mystified silence while the quartz was fitted to make a tiny window,

and the thin figure stooped to sight as if aiming the opening toward a far corner where a brown rat sat

upright and earnest munching of a dry crust. The Professor drew avory with him as he retreated

noiselessly from the instrument. Will you close the switch, you whispered? The young man hesitated,

bewildered at this unexpected demonstration, and the Professor himself reached with his one hand

for the black lever. Again the arc crashed into life to hold for a brief instant until Professor

Edinger opened the switch. Well, demanded avory, what's all the show? Do you think you were teaching

me anything about my own instrument? There was hurt pride and jealous resentment in his voice.

C. said Professor Edinger quietly, and his one thin hand pointed to a far shelf where in the

shadow was a huddle of brown fur and a bit of crust. It fell as they watched, and the plop

of the soft body upon the floor sounded loud in the silent room. The law of compensation,

said Professor Edinger, two sides to the metal, darkness and light, good and evil, life, and death.

The young man was stammering. What do you mean? A death ray evolved? And what of it, he demanded?

What of it? What's that got to do with it? A death ray, the other agreed. You have dreamed avory,

one must in order to create, but it is only a dream. You dreamed of life, a fuller life for

the world, but you would have given them as you have just seen, death. The face of avory was white

as wax, his eyes glared savagely from dark hollows. A rat, he protested, you have killed a rat,

and you say, you say, he raised one trembling hand to his lips to hold them from forming the

unspeakable words. A rat, said the Professor, or a man, or a million men. We will control it.

All men will have it, the best and the worst, and there is no defense. It will free the world,

it will destroy it. No! And the white-faced man was shouting now. You don't understand. You can't see

the lean figure of the scientist straight into its full height. His eyes met those of the younger

man silent now before him, but avory knew the eyes never saw him. They were looking far off,

following the wings of thought. In the stillness the man's words came harsh and commanding.

Do you see the cities, he said, crumbling to ruins under the cold stars? The fields,

they are rank with wild growth, torn and gullied by the waters, a desolate land where animals prowl,

and the people, the people, wandering bands, lower as the years drag on than the beasts themselves,

the children dying, forgotten in the forgotten lands, a people to whom the progress of our

civilization is won with the ages passed, for whom there is again the slow, toiling road toward

the light. And somewhere perhaps a conquering race, the most brutal and callous of mankind,

riding in their sense of power and dragging themselves down to oblivion. His gaze came slowly

back to the room and the figure of the man still fighting for his dream. They would not,

said Avory Horsley, they'd use it for good. Would they, asked Professor Edinger,

he spoke simply as one stating simple facts. I love my fellow men, he said,

and I killed them in thousands in the last war, I and my science and my poison gas.

The figure of Avory slumped suddenly upon a chair, his face was buried in his hands,

and I would have been, he groaned, the greatest man in the world.

You shall be greater, said the Professor, though only we shall know it, you and I,

you will save the world from itself. The figure, bowed in sunken in the chair, made no move,

the man was heedless of the kindly hand upon his shoulder, his voice when he spoke was that of one

a far off speaking out of a great loneliness. You don't understand, he said, Dully, you can't.

But Professor Edinger, a cog in the wheels of a great educational machine, glanced at the watch

on his wrist, again his thin shoulders were stooped, his voice tired. My classes, he said, I must be

going. In the gathering dusk Professor Edinger locked carefully the door of his office, he crossed

beyond his desk and fumbled with his one hand for his keys. There was a cabinet to be opened,

and he stared long in the dim light at the object he withdrew. He looked approvingly at the

exquisite workmanship of an instrument where a generator of the cathode ray and an intricate

maze of tubing surmounted electromagnets and around lead bulb. There were terminals for attaching

heavy cables. It was a beautiful thing. His useless arm moved to bring an imaginary hand before

the window of quartz in the lead sphere. Power, he whispered and repeated Avery's words,

power to build the city or destroy civilization, and I hold it in one hand.

He replaced the apparatus in the safety of its case. The saviors of mankind, he said,

and his tone was harsh and bitter, but a smile, whimsical, kindly crinkled his tired eyes as he

turned to his desk and its usual litter of examination papers. It is something Avery, he whispered

to that distant man, to belong in so distinguished a group. End of the power and the glory by Charles

W. Diffin. And Amika insurance, we know it's not just about where you're going,

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And as a mutual insurance company, we're built for our customers and prioritize your needs.

Amika, empathy is our best policy. Visit amika.com and get a quote today.

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