must think more than feel. And you threw yourself at everything.”
“Grandfather, that was through Krakatit.”
“What?”
“I . . . I made a discovery—and through that”
“If it hadn’t been in you it wouldn’t have been in the discovery. A man does everything out of himself. Wait and consider; think and try and remember what your discovery came from and how it was made. Think about that carefully and then say what you know. Hi, no, no, no, p-s-s!”
The cart rumbled over the rough road, the white horse moving its legs in a tremulous and quaint trot. The light danced over the ground, lighting up trees and stones, while the old man bumped up and down on his seat, singing softly to himself. Prokop was, rubbing his forehead. “Grandfather,” he whispered.
“Well?”
“I’ve forgotten!”
“What?”
“I . . . I’ve forgotten how to . . . make . . . Krakatit!”
“There you are,” said the old man calmly. “So you have found out something.”
