"Watch it, Doctor. Watch the lead."
The lead block quivered strangely, undergoing some queer transformation. Its outlines became blurred and vague. It shrank, dissolved; became infinitesimal bits of dust in Morgan's palm. Jonathan bent and blew on the dust and it fluttered away.
He looked at Doctor Wooden with a wry smile.
"I can do anything, Doctor. I can grow or become small. I can destroy or I can—create!"
"Well," the Chief breathed gustily. "I almost believe you. Whew! Man, do you realize the vast vistas that are opening for you? With power such as that ... oh, my God! How trite I am after seeing—that!"
"Does sort of stun you," agreed Jonathan dryly. "Doctor, do you think this gift was given to me for a—reason?"
The Chief glanced sharply at his assistant, then nodded slightly.
"Go on, Jonathan. Tell me what's on your mind."
Jonathan Morgan stalked up and down the laboratory aisle, his tall body graceful as the stalking panther, his great shoulders illy fitted in the smeared lab smock. He was a big man. Conference football and baseball had added lithe muscles to the frame that was his heritage from a family of farmers. Black hair, cut crew above a high-cheeked, tanned face, and coal black eyes that were alert as a watching cat, added to his look of fitness.