"Wonderful!" commented Professor Shanks, America's most noted zoölogist.
"It's curious," remarked Elinor Scarsdale, rather cleverly, I thought, "that from protoplasm to the highest civilization there should have been a struggle from soap to soap."
The Herr Doctor glanced approvingly at the brightest débutante of the season.
"In those words, young lady," he said, with flattering emphasis, "you have summed up the whole history of physical evolution. But to continue: My drops of oil foam act as if they were alive, their movements bearing a most marvelous resemblance to the activities of Pelomyxa, a jelly-like marine creature, protoplasmic in its simplicity." The Herr Doctor was again addressing his remarks to his oyster fork.
"Do I understand you, Dr. Plätner," asked Tom, from the foot of the table, "that, under the microscope, rhozopod protoplasm, for example, would resemble your--ah--oil foam?"
"So closely, sir," answered Herr Plätner, instantly, "that I have often deceived the most expert microscopists in Germany. Furthermore, Mr. Minturn, my artificial protoplasm retains its activity for long periods of time. I made one drop, sir, that was alive, so to speak, for six days."
"And then it died?" asked Mrs. "Ned," mournfully.
"To speak unscientifically, yes," answered the German, carefully. "Now, what are we to gather from all this, my friends?" The butler had removed the oysters, and the Herr Doctor was forced to glance at his audience.
"New reverence for soap and olive oil," suggested one of the younger scientists, a professor at a neighboring university.
Plätner eyed the speaker suspiciously, and then said: