‘We never see them in our schools. And yet they give us books on mathematics with figures and little jiggly things such as you have here,’ said Anne, turning over the pages.
The philosopher smiled.
‘Well, you see,’ said he, ‘with this kind of work it is different. Chemistry—or alchemy, as many call it—is something that people still connect with witchcraft and deviltry. Your schools, you say? Yes, they will take in works on mathematics today; but only a few years ago they wouldn’t do even that, mark you—at least nothing new in mathematics. Some day perhaps they’ll let books on chemistry into the schools. But not now. No, we have to work like thieves behind closed doors and sealed windows, lest we be called wizards and witches for bringing forward anything new ... Anything new!’—The philosopher suddenly threw his arms in the air and his face got even redder than usual—‘Anything new!—That’s what they’re afraid of. They want to make the world stand still. Sometimes I believe they’d sooner see it go backwards rather than forwards ... But you said you wanted to talk to me of something, eh?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Giles, suddenly brought back to the real reason of their visit. ‘We have here a shell. It does unusual things. We thought that you, a man of science, would be interested in it—though we have an end of our own to serve in bringing it to you.’
Slowly Giles brought the twisted green shell out of his pocket and laid it on the bench among the bottles and jars.
‘Usually, Sir,’ said he, ‘as of course you know, one only hears the roaring of the sea in an empty shell, if he holds it to his ear.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said the philosopher. ‘I remember doing it myself as a child. Go on.’
‘But this shell does more than that,’ said Giles. ‘It tells you what anyone is saying about you anywhere in the world.’
‘What!’ cried the philosopher. ‘Poof! Poof!—Do you take me for a ninny, boy?’
‘It is true, Sir,’ said Giles. ‘Please believe us. This shell, when carried in your pocket, gives warning if anyone speaks of you.’