‘How?’ asked Johannes.
‘By growing warm,’ said Giles.
‘But this is ridiculous,’ cried the philosopher. ‘It cannot be done.’
‘Sir,’ said Giles, ‘have you not in your chemistry here made wonders happen? Your paste that can blow a hole through a castle wall, just with the touch of a spark. How is that done?’
‘Tut—tut!’ grunted the philosopher. ‘But all that I can explain. I can show you in figures and formulae, in diagrams and diameters, just how the paste works. But this! This is unexplainable.’
‘But, Sir,’ Anne put in, ‘can we explain how any shell gives out sounds—noises like the sea? Why?’
‘Oh, that is quite simple,’ said the philosopher. ‘The peculiar shape of a shell inside gives you an echo of all the little noises in the air about you which the naked ear cannot catch. The general roar sounds somewhat like the roar of the sea—which is also made of many small noises mixed together.’
‘Very well, then,’ said Anne; ‘why should not this shell have extra-funny insides and carry the echo of voices better than anything else?’
‘Humph!’ grunted Johannes. ‘That’s an interesting notion—very interesting. You talk much older than you look, young lady. I don’t say I believe it, but it is an interesting thought ... Well, what is it you would have me do?’
‘We want you to keep it, Sir,’ said Anne suddenly, taking up the shell and pushing it into the philosopher’s hands. ‘Just keep it—in your pocket always. We will come back later, by your leave, and see what luck you may have had with it.’