"I say it can’t be nothin’ else!" fiercely muttered the marshal, his chair dropping solidly to all fours as he rammed a fist into an open palm. "No, sir! It _can’t!_" He glared at his companion. "What did you say?" "Huh?" demanded Henry, his chair also dropping to all fours because of the impetus it had received from his sudden start. "What for?" he asked inanely. "What for what?" growled Tex accusingly. "Who said: ’What for’?" "I did: I just wanted to know," hastily explained Henry in frank amity. "That’s what you said!" retorted Tex, leaning tensely toward him; "but what did you mean?" he demanded. "What you talkin’ about?" queried Henry, truly and sincerely wondering. "Don’t you try to fool me!" warned Tex. "Don’t pretend you don’t know! An’ let me tell you this. You are wrong, like th’ ministers an’ all th’ rest of th’ theologians. That’s th’ truest hypothesis man ever postulated. It proves itself, I tell you! From th’ diffused, homogeneous, gaseous state, whirlin’ because of molecular attraction, into a constantly more compact, matter state, constantly becomin’ more heterogeneous as pressure varies an’ causes a variable temperature of th’ mass. Integration an’ heterogeneity! From th’ cold of th’ diffused gases to th’ terrific heat generated by their pressure toward th’ common center of attraction. Can’t you see it, man?" Henry’s mouth remained open and inarticulate. "You won’t answer, like all th’ rest!" accused Tex. "An’ what heat! One huge molten ball, changing th’ force of th’ planets nearest, shifting th’ universal balance to new adjustments. ’Equilibrium!’ demands Nature. An’ so th’ struggle goes on, ever tryin’ to gain it, an’ allus makin’ new equilibriums necessary, like a dog chasin’ a flea on th’ end of his spine. Six days an’ a breathin’ space!" he jeered. "Six trillion years, more likely, an’ no time for breathin’ spaces! What you got to say to that, hey? Answer me this: What form of force does th’ integration postulate? Centrifugal? Hah!" he cried. "You thought you had me there, didn’t you? No, sir; not centrifugal--centripetal! Integration--centripetal! Gravity proves it. Centrifugal is th’ destroyer, th’ maker of satellites--not th’ builder! Bah!" he grunted. "You can’t disprove a word of it! Try it--just try it!" Henry shook his head slowly, drew a deep breath and sought a more comfortable position. "These here chairs are hard, ain’t they?" he remarked, feeling that he had to say something. Surely it was safe to say that.