A. D. 2000. Fuller Alvarado Mortimer
to think him sane.
“Yes,” continued Cobb, “I have found this power. I have no doubt that it strikes you with amazement that I should even suggest such an almost preposterous theory. I have no doubt that you almost think me insane; but my researches in the past few years have been rewarded by the most startling discoveries. We have all imagined, for many years, that as soon as the body was deprived of air for a considerable time, life would become extinct, or, in other words, that life could not exist without air. Such is not the case – ah! do not start,” he exclaimed, seeing both Hathaway and Craft bend forward inquiringly in their chairs. “I repeat, such is not the case. Without the oxygen in the air, the blood of man would be white, yet it would possess all the properties necessary to continue life. But one thing must not be confounded with this statement: oxygen is necessary for life with action, but not necessary for life without action. A strange statement, is it not? Am I tedious?” he asked, looking at his listeners.
“No; not at all,” they both exclaimed. “Please continue, for we are very much interested.”
“Well,” and Cobb’s eyes flashed as he warmed up to his subject, “it was long ago discovered that there was a peculiar odor arising upon the passage of a current of electricity through oxygen gas; this was also perceived even in working an electrical machine. This odor was named ozone. Both of you gentlemen are sufficiently proficient in chemistry for me to pass over the various methods by which ozone can be manufactured, yet I think it quite necessary that I should state a few facts about this very remarkable gas, if, indeed, it can be called a gas; it is really allotropic oxygen. Now, oxygen can be put into a liquid state, or even into a solid state; yet it is most difficult to keep it in either of those conditions – so much so that it would be of no use for the purposes for which I desire to use it. Oxygen is contracted by passing an electric spark through it, and ozone is perceived by the peculiar odor arising therefrom. If the intensity of the current is increased sufficiently, the oxygen is proportionately decreased in bulk. Suffice it to say that oxygen can be reduced millions of times in bulk by this simple method, always provided that the electrical energy was sufficient at starting. You will perceive,” and he hastily quitted the room, entered his workshop, and returned with a small bottle fitted with a tight stopper, and containing apparently a stick of camphor – “you will perceive,” he continued, “when I open this bottle, a most peculiar odor, a lightness in the atmosphere, a seeming renewal of life, and a sense of languidness passing over you.”
Saying this, he took out the glass stopper and passed the bottle two or three times in front of Hathaway and Craft. As the bottle was moved from side to side, both of them experienced a strange sensation; it seemed that the air was heavily charged with a something that gave them feelings of unutterable lightness, of calm repose, and intense satisfaction. The lights danced about in thousands of forms, yet each appeared to possess some true and beautiful shape. They moved, they walked and ran, yet no effort seemed to be required. It was as if they were a part of some living thing, yet not a part: a part of it in that they moved and had feelings coincident with it, yet not a part because no effort was required, of brain or muscle, to be a part of it. For a moment it seemed to each of them that a state of exertionless existence had been reached, and then each knew no more. They lay in their chairs apparently lifeless.
Cobb quickly replaced the stopper in the bottle, and took from his nostrils two small pieces of sponge, which had been saturated in some kind of solution.
Returning to the back room, he replaced the bottle on the shelf from which he had taken it, and came back to his position by the table.
He watched Hathaway and Craft a few minutes, when, seeing no appearance of reviving, he arose and opened the windows and wheeled their chairs around so that the cool night air could strike them full in the face. This done, he sat himself down near the table and seemed to watch with great earnestness the countenances of his two friends.
He had sat this way but a moment, when a sigh escaped the lips of Craft, his eyes opened, and he gazed about him with a most puzzled and dazed expression.
Cobb sprang quickly to his side, and presented a glass of wine to his lips.
“There,” he said, “take some of that, old fellow; you will feel like your former self in a moment.”
Craft drank the liquor without saying a word; then, raising himself, he looked Cobb in the eyes, and asked:
“Have I been asleep, Cobb, or what is the matter? I feel as if I had just awakened from a most delicious slumber, a most refreshing one, and yet I had no dreams, nor does it seem that I am fatigued in the least.”
At this moment Hathaway opened his eyes, and also in a dazed manner viewed his surroundings.
“Why, bless me, I have been asleep!” he exclaimed.
Cobb quickly filled a second glass of wine and gave it to him, saying: “Drink that; you will feel all right in a jiffy.”
Hathaway emptied the glass, and then, looking at Craft, said:
“I know now; it was the bottle, or rather the contents, that has caused us both to fall asleep.”
“Yes,” said Cobb, “it was the contents of that bottle that has caused you both to enter the first stages of death.”
“How long has this sleep continued?” asked Craft.
“About ten minutes.”
“And was I also asleep as long?” asked Hathaway.
“Yes; a little longer,” returned Cobb. “Craft awoke first.”
Pausing to light a cigar, he then resumed:
“How do you feel – sick or languid?”
“Oh, as for me, not at all,” spoke up Craft. “I cannot say that I feel any ill effect from the drug.”
“Nor I,” said Hathaway, “except that I am a little dry,” with a laugh.
“Then take some of this wine,” and Cobb filled a glass for each of them. “It will brace up your nerves.”
They drank the wine, and appeared to suffer no evil effects from their enforced sleep.
“Will you not smoke, also?” asked Cobb, as he passed over a box of fine Havana cigars. Each took one, and Cobb laid the box aside.
Soon the clouds of smoke rising to the ceiling renewed the scene of warmth and sociability which had prevailed before the uncorking of the bottle of ozone.
“You, gentlemen,” said Cobb, drawing his chair to the fire, and taking a seat near the others, “have seen pure ozone in its solid state, and you both have felt its effect. It is the life-giving principle of oxygen. Ozone is everywhere; in the air, of course; in all creation, in fact. I do not wish to tire you, but if you desire, I will explain why I said that I had the power to hold life in the human body for an indefinite time.”
“You will not tire us. Pray go on; I, for one, am most anxious to know more of this wonderful discovery of yours,” quickly returned Craft.
“I also can listen for hours to your words,” answered Hathaway.
“Then, I will explain to you my researches in this direction;” and Cobb arose and entered his little back room, soon returning with a good-sized box, which he laid upon the table.
Craft and Hathaway watched him with an earnestness which gave evidence of the interest they took in the strange theories which he had advanced. Indeed, it was a most strange, not to say terrible, power for a man to possess – that of holding the soul of man within its fleshly portals during his pleasure.
After Cobb had placed the box upon the table, he opened the roll of papers which he had before him at the time he got the bottle of ozone. Referring to one of the pages, he looked toward Hathaway and said:
“Can you tell me how many cubic feet of air the average man requires in every twenty-four hours?”
Hathaway, taken by surprise, hesitated, blushed, and admitted that he had forgotten the exact amount.
“Well,” continued the other, quickly, “it is not to be supposed that you should