_Dr. Faustus had sat all the while neither drinking ale nor smoking tobacco, but with his hands folded, and in silence. “I know not why it is,” said he, “but that story of yours, my friend, brings to my mind a story of a man whom I once knew--a great magician in his time, and a necromancer and a chemist and an alchemist and mathematician and a rhetorician, an astronomer, an astrologer, and a philosopher as well.”_ _“’Tis a long list of excellency,” said old Bidpai._ _“’Tis not as long as was his head,” said Dr. Faustus._ _“It would be good for us all to hear a story of such a man,” said old Bidpai._ _“Nay,” said Dr. Faustus, “the story is not altogether of the man himself, but rather of a pupil who came to learn wisdom of him.”_ _“And the name of your story is what?” said Fortunatus._ _“It hath no name,” said Dr. Faustus._ _“Nay,” said St. George, “everything must have a name.”_ _“It hath no name,” said Dr. Faustus. “But I shall give it a name, and it shall be--”_ [Illustration] Empty Bottles. In the old, old days when men were wiser than they are in these times, there lived a great philosopher and magician, by name Nicholas Flamel. Not only did he know all the actual sciences, but the black arts as well, and magic, and what not. He conjured demons so that when a body passed the house of a moonlight night a body might see imps, great and small, little and big, sitting on the chimney stacks and the ridge-pole, clattering their heels on the tiles and chatting together. He could change iron and lead into silver and gold; he discovered the elixir of life, and might have been living even to this day had he thought it worth while to do so. There was a student at the university whose name was Gebhart, who was so well acquainted with algebra and geometry that he could tell at a single glance how many drops of water there were in a bottle of wine. As for Latin and Greek--he could patter them off like his A B C’s. Nevertheless, he was not satisfied with the things he knew, but was for learning the things that no schools could teach him. So one day he came knocking at Nicholas Flamel’s door. “Come in,” said the wise man, and there Gebhart found him sitting in the midst of his books and bottles and diagrams and dust and chemicals and cobwebs, making strange figures upon the table with jackstraws and a piece of chalk--for your true wise man can squeeze more learning out of jackstraws and a piece of chalk than we common folk can get out of all the books in the world. No one else was in the room but the wise man’s servant, whose name was Babette. [Illustration] “What is it you want?” said the wise man, looking at Gebhart over the rim of his spectacles.