Frenzied Fiction by Stephen Leacock Page B

ask you first to clear your mind,” the Professor continued, “of all conception of ponderable magnitude.”

    We nodded. We had already cleared our mind of this.

    â€œIn fact,” added the Professor, with what we thought a quiet note of warning in his voice, “I need hardly tell you that what we are dealing with must be regarded as altogether ultramicroscopic.”

    We hastened to assure the Professor that, in accordance with the high standards of honour represented by our journal, we should of course regard anything that he might say as ultramicroscopic and treat it accordingly.

    â€œYou say, then,” we continued, “that the essence of the problem is the resolution of the atom. Do you think you can give us any idea of what the atom is?”

    The Professor looked at us searchingly.

    We looked back at him, openly and frankly. The moment was critical for our interview. Could he do it? Were we the kind of person that he could give it to? Could we get it if he did?

    â€œI think I can,” he said. “Let us begin with the assumption that the atom is an infinitesimal magnitude. Very good. Let us grant, then, that though it is imponderable and indivisible it must have a spacial content? You grant me this?”

    â€œWe do,” we said, “we do more than this, we
give
it to you.”

    â€œVery well. If spacial, it must have dimension: if dimension—form. Let us assume
ex hypothesi
the form to be that of a spheroid and see where it leads us.”

    The Professor was now intensely interested. He walked to and fro in his laboratory. His features worked with excitement. We worked ours, too, as sympathetically as we could.

    â€œThere is no other possible method in inductive science,” he added, “than to embrace some hypothesis, the most attractive that one can find, and remain with it—”

    We nodded. Even in our own humble life after our day’s work we had found this true.

    â€œNow,” said the Professor, planting himself squarely in front of us, “assuming a spherical form, and a spacial content, assuming the dynamic forces that are familiar to us and assuming—the thing is bold, I admit—”

    We looked as bold as we could.

    â€œâ€”assuming that the
ions
, or
nuclei
of the atom—I know no better word—”

    â€œNeither do we,” we said.

    â€œâ€”that the nuclei move under the energy of such forces, what have we got?”

    â€œHa!” we said.

    â€œWhat have we got? Why, the simplest matter conceivable. The forces inside our atom—itself, mind you, the function of a circle—mark that—”

    We did.

    â€œâ€”becomes merely a function of pi!”

    The Great Scientist paused with a laugh of triumph.

    â€œA function of pi!” we repeated in delight.

    â€œPrecisely. Our conception of ultimate matter is reduced to that of an oblate spheroid described by the revolution of an ellipse on its own minor axis!”

    â€œGood heavens!” we said. “Merely that.”

    â€œNothing else. And in that case any further calculation becomes a mere matter of the extraction of a root.”

    â€œHow simple,” we murmured.

    â€œIs it not,” said the Professor. “In fact, I am accustomed, in talking to my class, to give them a very clear idea, by simply taking as our root F—F being any finite constant—”

    He looked at us sharply. We nodded.

    â€œâ€”and raising F to the log of infinity. I find they apprehend it very readily.”

    â€œDo they?” we murmured. Ourselves we felt as if the Log of Infinity carried us to ground higher than what we commonly care to tread on.

    â€œOf course,” said the Professor, “the Log of Infinity is an Unknown.”

    â€œOf course,” we said very gravely. We felt ourselves here in the presence of something that demanded our reverence.

    â€œBut still,” continued the