"I think I know a way," the little old man said finally, "but it will seem like madness. Probably it is. It's never been tried. It may never work."
I seized him by the lapels. "Any way is better than none. I'd rather die trying than sitting down moping my life away. Tell it to me."
"You won't laugh? You will take whatever I say seriously?" the little old man asked anxiously.
I saw he didn't want to die the object of scorn, and I saw also that he must have something pretty odd up his sleeve. "No," I answered, "you won't hear a peep out of me."
"Then," said the old man, "if you can prepare yourself, you could walk out through the rocks."
In spite of my promise, I gasped. But then I squelched myself and thought that if I was with a lunatic, I might as well make the most of it. He was now the other half of my universe and so standards had changed. Facing death, any straw will do.
"Proceed," I said. "Explain further."
"Rocks," said the little old man—I guess he must have been a scientist of some sort—"and all other matter are composed of nothing mainly, with a little vibration thrown in."
I kept my mouth shut. I wasn't going to say anything to the contrary even if he claimed black was white.