eyes which seemed to penetrate depths unfathomable to our intelligence.
Yet we had not the faintest conception of what was really passing in his
mind. If we had understood it, if we had caught a single clear glimpse of
the workings of his intellect, we should have been appalled. And if we
had known how close we stood to the verge of an abyss of mystery about to
be lighted by such a gleam as had never before been emitted from the
human spirit, I believe that we would have started from our chairs and
fled in dismay.

But we understood nothing, except that Edmund was indulging in one of his
eccentric dreams, and Jack, in his large, careless, good-natured way
broke in with:

"Well, Edmund, suppose _you_ could 'get at it,' as you say; what would
you do with it?"

Stonewall's eyes gleamed for a moment, and then he replied, with a
curious emphasis:

"I might do what Archimedes dreamed of."

None of us happened to remember what it was that Archimedes had dreamed,
and the subject was dropped.

For a considerable time afterwards we saw nothing of Stonewall. He did
not come to the club, and we were beginning to think of looking him up,
when one evening, quite unexpectedly, he dropped in, wearing an unusually
cheerful expression. We had greatly missed him, and we now greeted him
with effusion. His animation impressed us all, and he had no sooner
shaken hands than he said, with suppressed excitement in his voice: