"There should be—you say, my boy."
"In which case this granite would not exist, but be in a state of fusion."
"But you perceive, my boy, that it is not so, and that facts, as usual, are very stubborn things, overruling all theories."
"I am forced to yield to the evidence of my senses, but I am nevertheless very much surprised."
"What heat does the thermometer really indicate?" continued the philosopher.
"Twenty-seven six-tenths."
"So that science is wrong by fourteen hundred and seventy-four degrees and four-tenths. According to which, it is demonstrated that the proportional increase in temperature is an exploded error. Humphry Davy here shines forth in all his glory. He is right, and I have acted wisely to believe him. Have you any answer to make to this statement?"
Had I chosen to have spoken, I might have said a great deal. I in no way admitted the theory of Humphry Davy—I still held out for the theory of proportional increase of heat, though I did not feel it.
I was far more willing to allow that this chimney of an extinct volcano was covered by lava of a kind refractory to heat—in fact a bad conductor—which did not allow the great increase of temperature to percolate through its sides. The hot water jet supported my view of the matter.
But without entering on a long and useless discussion, or seeking for new arguments to controvert my uncle, I contented myself with taking up facts as they were.