"Already done it?"
"Yes, sir; and more than once. Billy Saunders and I went out into the
country, stood nearly a mile apart, spoke in ordinary tones and each
heard more than half the other said."
"With no instruments whatever?"
"None except a little receiver about the size of your watch."
Luther whistled again. On his face was a look of surprise--the Surprise
that's the brother of Doubt.
Dr. Alton was looking earnestly at his son. "Is that really true,
Cyrus? Are you absolutely sure no previous knowledge of each other's
intentions may have helped a little?"
Then Cyrus explained the experiments in detail. He told how they
purposely chose subjects unknown to each other; how they put on paper
the words as they arrived; that the percentage of messages correctly
received increased at every trial; and that weather conditions, wind,
rain or sunshine seemed to make little difference in the results.
After answering other questions, he said to his father:
"But that is only the beginning. The day is coming when even the spoken
word will be superfluous."
"Just what do you mean, Cyrus?"
"I mean communicating thought by electric induction--by direct
vibrations."
"Say, Cyrus!" exclaimed Luther, "the Arabian Nights isn't in it with
you!"
"No, it isn't," said Cyrus. "For I have already done it."
"Done what?"
"Sent thought waves--and received them."
"Oh, come off."
But Dr. Alton was looking earnestly at his son. He recalled one or two
occasions when Cyrus had accomplished this very thing. And now, as they
looked into each other's eyes, he suspected his own thoughts, at this
very moment, were being read. His suspicions were correct, for Cyrus
answered an unspoken question.
"Yes, sir, it's the same as those you are recalling. But now I
understand it. Much depends, of course, on the individual. Latent
faculties in individuals, however, can be surprisingly developed. I do
believe that within a few years our thoughts, spoken and unspoken, will
be traveling through the air as wireless travels now."
Dr. Alton made no reply. He closed his eyes for a time and smoked in
silence. His thoughts went back to those unexplained episodes when
Cyrus was a boy; then further back to the villa by the Adriatic. He was
recalling a conversation in the loggia of that hidden villa when Luther
rose to his feet and exclaimed:
"Is there anything, Cyrus, too impossible for you to believe?"
"Nothing--if it is interesting. I never reject a good fairy tale. Why
be a skeptic? To look at a skeptic's face is enough. His digestion is
never good. He thinks with his stomach and his stomach reacts on his
brain. That means farewell to enthusiasm and to all the best things of
life. Ambition and gastric juice are partners. Had Buddha, Christ or
Mohammed been skeptics you never would have heard of them. No skeptic
could possibly succeed as an inventor, poet, explorer, patriot, or as
any other kind of hero. He fails before he begins."
Cyrus paused for a moment, then added: "Perhaps you are both saying to
yourselves, better be a skeptic than a credulous ass. But that's open
to argument. The credulous ass is not only happier but he has Hope for
a backer, and he is a heap sight more likely to get somewhere than the
pessimist. The pessimist never starts."
His father nodded approval.
Luther put on his hat. "Right you are, Drowsy. Me for a credulous ass.
I swallow all you say, electric miracles and all. Of course, this
sending ideas about the world free of expense and without even the
trouble of saying them, is quite a morsel for the ordinary throat, but
I've got it part way down and am holding on to it. If what you say is
true, miracles are with us. Jimminy! It's a large idea!"
"No miracle at all," said Cyrus. "Not half so miraculous as the growth
of that apple tree from a seed. And the human brain! Two handfuls of
gray matter--and what it achieves! Did you ever happen to realize what
a self-starting, Johnny-on-the-Spot, up-to-date miracle your memory is?"