"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.
"You've had a shock. Tell me, did the rays react as we'd hoped?"
"No, no. It isn't the rays. It's me. I—I'm infinite!"
Dr. Wooden smiled, saying, "Sit down, boy. You've been working too hard. You need a rest. Forget all about the calcatryte and how to bend the rays it emanates. You need a change. Perhaps the shore. Or my mountain lodge in the Adirondacks."
Jonathan Morgan straightened, shaking his head, muttering, "No, no." His brain was clearing, and he knew with a grim sureness that something big had happened to him, for a reason. He lifted another block of lead, and looked down at it.