“Yes,” said Uncle Richard, taking the great glass jar. “Now watch the magical action of Nature, and see what is a great wonder. See, I pour eight ounces—fluid ounces, Tom, not weighed ounces—into the glass measure from this bottle. There: and pour them into this glass jar, which will hold eight times as much. From the next bottle I take an equal quantity and pour it into the jar; and from this bottle I take another equal quantity and pour it into the others. Shake them all up together, and I have so much liquid which looks like water, but, as you may have observed, one of them was the limpid silver solution.”
“Yes, I saw that,” said Tom.
“I didn’t,” said the Vicar; “but boys always do see the critical thing in the conjuring trick. But go on, Professor Brandon.”
“I must come to a halt here,” said Uncle Richard.
“No, no, don’t say that, uncle,” cried Tom. “You’ve raised us up to such a pitch of expectation.”
“Only for a few moments,” said Uncle Richard, “while I prepare my glass. Now then, when I lift out the piece, Tom, you take up the tray, and empty the water into the sink, and bring the empty tray back, place it where it was before, and then come and hold the glass here upon this blotting-paper to drain.”
All this was done as requested, and then the lecturer was set free by Tom holding the three-cornered piece of glass, from which nearly all the water had run.
“Now observe,” said Uncle Richard, “this is the critical point of the experiment. You see, I take this fourth bottle, and pour the same quantity of this clear liquid into my measure. There—done; and as long as I keep them separate no action takes place, but the moment I pour this clear liquid into that clear liquid, you will see that a change takes place. Look—I ought to say behold!”
The contents of the measure were poured into the glass jar.
“Gets cloudy and thick,” cried Tom.