“It was different with him,” quavered the old man, pointing unsteadily to the head-stone. “Science grew to be his one passion, and many discoveries rewarded him for his devotion. He was groping on the track of a far greater achievement when he died.”
“May I ask what it was?” said Ronald, now fairly interested.
“The creation and isolation of the principle of Life!”
This was too much for Ronald Wyde; down dived his restless hands into his trowsers’ pockets again, and the gröschen rattled as merrily as before.
“I have made quite a study of biology, and all that sort of thing,” said he; “and, although a good deal of a skeptic, and inclined to follow Huxley, I can’t bring myself to conceive of life without organism. Such theorizing is, to my mind, on a par with the illogical search for the philosopher’s stone and a perpetual motor.”
The old man’s eyes sparkled as he turned full upon Ronald.
“You dismiss the subject very airily, my young friend,” he cried; “but let me tell you that I—I, whom you see here—have grappled with such problems through a weary century, and have conquered one of them.”
“And that one is—”
“The one that conquered Plattner!”