sharper point, and his eyes to harden. "Keep them! For what purpose, O son of Ibrahim?"
Looking out of the window at the dried-up garden, Omar did not appear either ashamed or troubled. "I do not know yet," he answered.
Of all things, Master Ali had not anticipated this. Suspicion grew upon him, as he pondered. Omar had spoken much too casually.
"These demonstrations," the old mathematician persisted, "are kept in that chest of thine which is locked?"
"Yes."
"But I have not locked my door. There is naught in all my papers that may not be seen." He glanced up into the young man's face. "Even the answer of the Greeks in this equation lies—on the floor beside thee."
Omar did not turn his head toward the table with the Koran and the papers where the notation really was, nor did he show a trace of surprise. If he had ransacked Master Ali's room, he had the self-command of a diplomat, or a spy.
After Master Ali had dismissed his young assistant, he pored over the solution of the cubes for hours. To the amazement of his class, he forgot completely the afternoon lecture. He was trying to approach another problem, as Omar had done, without success. His well-schooled mind could not make geometry do the work of algebra—he could not think in terms of solid masses.
"Avicenna could not do it!" he thought, in exasperation. "And yet——"
It was a vague idea. His own lifework, algebra, had served to solve problems that mere arithmetic could not master. What if this preposterous geometry of the Greeks could solve, in similar fashion, problems beyond the scope of algebra? What if some yet-unguessed art could progress beyond the three dimensions of geometry, to deal with numbers to the point of infinity? Master Ali threw pen and paper from him in disgust.
He had wasted an afternoon. All this was ignoble imagination; it had nothing to do with the exact science of mathematics. Omar, he decided, had merely stolen into his room, discovered the solution to the problem, and by aid of the solution had concocted these deceptive cubes. Probably he had no others locked up in his chest. Probably he was a spy, and he kept his reports in the chest until he should be able to go to Nisapur with them or send them, somehow.
Master Ali, having reached this conclusion, put away Omar's solution of the problem, glanced out the window at the water clock, uttered an exclamation of dismay when he saw that he had only a moment before the time of evening prayer, and hastened to the pool to wash his feet and wrists.
A week later the old mathematician had reason to cogitate again about Omar of the Tentmakers.
That afternoon a horse drew up at his gate. The horse was escorted by a half-dozen staff bearers on foot. A carpet slave hastened to unroll a narrow strip of rug from the horse to the inner side of Master Ali's gate, while another slave ran in to announce that Tutush desired to visit Master Ali.
Tutush followed the announcement of his name. He had a round and rolling body clad in silk, a voluminous turban of sheer turquoise blue, and a voice of marvelous modulations. The instant he ceased ordering his own followers about, he was beseeching the slaves of Master Ali for assurance as to the health of their distinguished lord. When Master Ali appeared at last, in his best somber black, Tutush uttered an exclamation of joy and clasped him in his short arms.
"Praise and glory to the Lord of the Two Worlds that the health of the world-renowned Mirror of Wisdom is unfailing! May the Mirror be untarnished for uncounted years! May it continue to reflect the wisdom of the age—of the century—upon us poor slaves of ignorance!"
To this polite greeting, Master Ali objected with becoming humility. But Tutush waved aside all objection. "Nay, is it not well known in Nisapur that your Honor is the superior of Kharesmi, and the master of that stupid Ustad of Baghdad? Had Avicenna greater knowledge of the sciences? Nay, he had not!"
Master Ali fared badly in
Looking out of the window at the dried-up garden, Omar did not appear either ashamed or troubled. "I do not know yet," he answered.
Of all things, Master Ali had not anticipated this. Suspicion grew upon him, as he pondered. Omar had spoken much too casually.
"These demonstrations," the old mathematician persisted, "are kept in that chest of thine which is locked?"
"Yes."
"But I have not locked my door. There is naught in all my papers that may not be seen." He glanced up into the young man's face. "Even the answer of the Greeks in this equation lies—on the floor beside thee."
Omar did not turn his head toward the table with the Koran and the papers where the notation really was, nor did he show a trace of surprise. If he had ransacked Master Ali's room, he had the self-command of a diplomat, or a spy.
After Master Ali had dismissed his young assistant, he pored over the solution of the cubes for hours. To the amazement of his class, he forgot completely the afternoon lecture. He was trying to approach another problem, as Omar had done, without success. His well-schooled mind could not make geometry do the work of algebra—he could not think in terms of solid masses.
"Avicenna could not do it!" he thought, in exasperation. "And yet——"
It was a vague idea. His own lifework, algebra, had served to solve problems that mere arithmetic could not master. What if this preposterous geometry of the Greeks could solve, in similar fashion, problems beyond the scope of algebra? What if some yet-unguessed art could progress beyond the three dimensions of geometry, to deal with numbers to the point of infinity? Master Ali threw pen and paper from him in disgust.
He had wasted an afternoon. All this was ignoble imagination; it had nothing to do with the exact science of mathematics. Omar, he decided, had merely stolen into his room, discovered the solution to the problem, and by aid of the solution had concocted these deceptive cubes. Probably he had no others locked up in his chest. Probably he was a spy, and he kept his reports in the chest until he should be able to go to Nisapur with them or send them, somehow.
Master Ali, having reached this conclusion, put away Omar's solution of the problem, glanced out the window at the water clock, uttered an exclamation of dismay when he saw that he had only a moment before the time of evening prayer, and hastened to the pool to wash his feet and wrists.
A week later the old mathematician had reason to cogitate again about Omar of the Tentmakers.
That afternoon a horse drew up at his gate. The horse was escorted by a half-dozen staff bearers on foot. A carpet slave hastened to unroll a narrow strip of rug from the horse to the inner side of Master Ali's gate, while another slave ran in to announce that Tutush desired to visit Master Ali.
Tutush followed the announcement of his name. He had a round and rolling body clad in silk, a voluminous turban of sheer turquoise blue, and a voice of marvelous modulations. The instant he ceased ordering his own followers about, he was beseeching the slaves of Master Ali for assurance as to the health of their distinguished lord. When Master Ali appeared at last, in his best somber black, Tutush uttered an exclamation of joy and clasped him in his short arms.
"Praise and glory to the Lord of the Two Worlds that the health of the world-renowned Mirror of Wisdom is unfailing! May the Mirror be untarnished for uncounted years! May it continue to reflect the wisdom of the age—of the century—upon us poor slaves of ignorance!"
To this polite greeting, Master Ali objected with becoming humility. But Tutush waved aside all objection. "Nay, is it not well known in Nisapur that your Honor is the superior of Kharesmi, and the master of that stupid Ustad of Baghdad? Had Avicenna greater knowledge of the sciences? Nay, he had not!"
Master Ali fared badly in
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