Man nth

From strange and distant worlds the master beings came to Neeoorna, bringing with them the science of the Universe. One by one they fought the alien fire—and died. And now Jonathan Morgan, the Earthling, whose science was primitive compared to the others, found himself facing the black flames.
He stood alone in the laboratory, frightened, staring at the tiny motes of dust that swirled lightly in the breeze. That dust had been a block of solid lead a moment ago; before he had touched it, and concentrated.
Jonathan Morgan licked his lips with a dry tongue. Things like this shouldn't happen to the assistant to the Chief of the National Foundation for Physics Research. It went against every law he had studied so absorbedly for the past twelve years, ever since he had decided in high school to make physics his life work.
I'm mad, he said to himself, knowing he was utterly sane; that was what frightened, knowing his sanity.
He removed a glass test-tube from a wooden rack before him, grasped it firmly and furrowed his brows over his clear black eyes. If this works, he thought savagely, I can chuck every law of physics and organic chemistry into the junk heap, and become a tramp riding the rods of the first train out of town....
The glass in his hands stretched noticeably; grew and expanded to pint size, to the size of a quart container.
God!
The glass shattered on the inlaid linoleum floor. Jonathan put out his big hands and clung to the edge of the sandstone tabletop until his muscles bunched in big ridges all along his hairy forearms.
Dr. Wooden! he shouted hoarsely. Dr. Wooden!
A big man came and stood in the doorway, staring at him, clad in white smock with the sleeves rolled up to bare his wrists.
Did you call—Jonathan! What's wrong?
The Chief ran to him, his eyes intent in his white face, his features tense.