The boy looked up at him. He was a city boy and used to the streets. Here was some old high-brow challenging his wisdom. Of course he knew. “It’s the sun.” “There,” laughed the man. “Of course. You said you knew, but you don’t. Why doesn’t the sun, without the glass, burn the paper? Tell me that.” The boy was still looking up at him; he saw that the man was not like the others on the street. It may be that the strange intimacy kindled into being at that moment. Certainly it was a strange unbending for the doctor. “It would if it was hot enough or you could get enough of it together.” “Ah! Then that is what the glass is for, is it?” “Yessir.” “Concentration?” “Con— I don’t know, sir. But it’s the sun. She’s sure some hot. I know a lot about the sun, sir. I’ve studied it with the glass. The glass picks up all the rays and puts them in one hole and that’s what burns the paper. “It’s lots of fun. I’d like to have a bigger one; but it’s all I’ve got. Why, do you know, if I had a glass big enough and a place to stand, I’d burn up the earth?” The old man laughed. “Why, Archimedes! I thought you were dead.” “My name ain’t Archimedes. It’s Charley Huyck.” Again the old man laughed. “Oh, is it? Well, that’s a good name, too. And if you keep on you’ll make it famous as the name of the other.” Wherein he was foretelling history. “Where do you live?” The boy was still looking. Ordinarily he would not have told, but he motioned back with his thumb. “I don’t live; I room over on Brennan Street.” “Oh, I see. You room. Where’s your mother?” “Search me; I never saw her.” “I see; and your father?” “How do I know. He went floating when I was four years old.” “Floating?” “Yessir—to sea.” “So your mother’s gone and your father’s floating. Archimedes is adrift. You go to school?” “Yessir” “What reader?” “No reader. Sixth grade.” “I see. What school?” “School Twenty-six. Say, it’s hot. I can’t stand here all day. I’ve got to sell my papers.” The man pulled out a purse. “I’ll take the lot,” he said. Then kindly: “My boy, I would like to have you go with me.” It was a strange moment. A little thing with the fates looking on. When destiny plays she picks strange moments. This was one. Charley Huyck went with Dr. Robold. CHAPTER II THE POISON PALL We all of us remember that fatal day when the news startled all of Oakland. No one can forget it. At first it read like a newspaper hoax, in spite of the oft-proclaimed veracity of the press, and we were inclined to laughter. ’Twixt wonder at the story and its impossibilities we were not a little enthused at the nerve of the man who put it over.