“Here,” he said, leading the way into the room where the coil stood. He pointed to a table on which was another—the latter a small short-legged wooden one with more the shape and size of a wooden seat. It was two feet square and painted coal black. I viewed it with interest. I would have bought it, for the little table on which light was first sent through the human body will some day be a great historical curiosity; but it was not for sale. A photograph of it would have been a consolation, but for several reasons one was not to be had at present. However, the historical table was there, and was duly inspected.
“How did you take the first hand photograph?” I asked.
The professor went over to a shelf by the window, where lay a number of prepared glass plates, closely wrapped in black paper. He put a Crookes tube underneath the table, a few inches from the under side of its top. Then he laid his hand flat on the top of the table, and placed the glass plate loosely on his hand.
“You ought to have your portrait painted in that attitude,” I suggested.
“No, that is nonsense,” said he, smiling.
“Or be photographed.” This suggestion was made with a deeply hidden purpose.
The rays from the Röntgen eyes instantly penetrated the deeply hidden purpose. “Oh, no,” said he; “I can't let you make pictures of me. I am too busy.” Clearly the professor was entirely too modest to gratify the wishes of the curious world.
“Now, Professor,” said I, “will you tell me the history of the discovery?”
“There is no history,” he said. “I have been for a long time interested in the problem of the cathode rays from a vacuum tube as studied by Hertz and Lenard. I had followed their and other researches with great interest, and determined, as soon as I had the time, to make some researches of my own. This time I found at the close of last October. I had been at work for some days when I discovered something new.”
“What was the date?”