And so I departed from the house of Mr. Sienkiewicz.

I can't really see why, when he was making a name for himself, he did
not choose one that people outside of his own country could speak
occasionally without wrecking their vocal chords--one like Boggs, for
instance.

GENERAL WEYLER

Upon returning to my London lodgings I was greatly rejoiced to find
awaiting me there a cable message from the War Department at Washington,
saying that if I would visit General Weyler at Madrid, and secure from
him a really frank expression of his views concerning our Spanish
imbroglio, the President would be very glad to give me a commission as
First Assistant Vivandière to the army of the Philippines, with rank of
Captain. I saw at once that in endeavoring to secure an interview with
this particular celebrity I ran risks far greater than any I had yet
encountered--greater even than those involved in my visit to Mr. Caine
at his Manx home. It is my custom, however, to go wherever duty may
call, and inasmuch as my sex has, since the days of Joan of Arc, secured
military recognition nowhere except in the ranks of the Salvation Army,
I resolved to accept the commission, and notified the War Department
accordingly. Fortunately my style of beauty is of the Spanish type, and,
furthermore, when at boarding-school, many years ago, in Brooklyn, I had
studied the Spanish tongue, so that disguise was not difficult. I had
seen Carmencita dance at a private residence in New York, and had
therefore some slight knowledge of how a full-fledged señorita should
enter a room, so that, on the whole, I went to Madrid tolerably
confident that I could beard the great Spanish lion in his den, and
escape unscathed.

Purchasing a lace mantilla and a scarlet scarf about eight feet long, my
feet covered with red slippers, and a slight suggestion of yellow silk
hosiery peeping from beneath a satin skirt of the length prescribed by
the rainy-day club, and armed with a pack of cards and a pair of
castanets, I ventured forth upon my perilous mission. Nothing of moment
occurred on the journey. I did not don my Spanish dress until I had left
England behind--indeed, I had reached the Pyrenees before I arrayed
myself in my costume, although I was most anxious to do so. It was,
after all, so fetching.

Once in Spain I had no difficulty at all, and in fact made myself very
popular with the natives by telling most charming fortunes for them, and
dancing the armadillo and opadildock with a verve which pleased them and
surprised even myself. I have always known myself to be a resourceful
creature, but I had never dreamed that among my reserve accomplishments
the agility and grace of a premiere danseuse could be numbered.

[Illustration: "A RATHER STUNNING BANDERILLO OPENED THE DOOR"]

It was Friday evening when I reached Madrid, and Saturday morning,
bright and early, I called at General Weyler's house. A rather stunning
banderillo opened the front door and inquired my business.

"Tell General Weyler," said I, "that Señorita Gypsy del Castillanos de
Sierra de Santiago, of Newark, New Jersey, wishes to speak with him on
affairs of national importance."

[Illustration: IN HIDING]

I had resolved upon a bold stroke, and it worked to a charm. The
General, who is mortally afraid of assassins, had been listening from
his usual hiding-place behind the hat-rack. Pushing the hat-rack from
before him, he stepped out into the hall, and, standing between me and
the door, inquired threateningly if Newark, New Jersey, was not one of
the dependencies of the United States. I answered him in fluent Spanish
that it was, told him that I had lived there through no fault of my own
for three years, had had to fly before a mob because of my pro-Spanish
sympathies, and, travelling night and day, had come to lay before him a
complete sketch of the fortifications of Newark, together with the
ground-plan of Harlem, which, as I informed him, he would have to take
before he could possibly hope to place Washington in a state of siege. I
also gave him a chart showing by what waterways a Spanish fleet could
approach and reduce Niagara Falls to ashes--a blow which would strike
England and the United States with equal force, without necessarily
altering the _status quo ante_ with Great Britain.

The General, like the quick-witted soldier that he is, became interested
at once. The lowering aspect of his brow cleared like the summer clouds
before an August sun, and, with an urbanity which I had not expected,
invited me to step into his sanctum. I accepted with alacrity. I cannot
say that it was a pleasant room; it was in military disorder. Machetes
and murderous-looking pistols were everywhere, and the chair to which I
was assigned was a pleasant little relic of the Inquisition, and was so
arranged that had the General so wished, the arms holding hidden iron
spikes would fold about me at any moment and give me a hug I should not
forget in a hurry. Added to this was a series of Kodak pictures of all
the atrocities of which he was guilty while in Havana. These were framed
in one massive oaken frieze running from one end of the room to the
other, and labelled on a gilt tablet with black letters, "Snap Shots I
Have Snapped, or Pleasant Times in Cuba."

This demonstrates that Weyler is one of those rarely fortunate people
who take pleasure and pride in the profession they are called upon to
follow.

"General," said I, once we were seated, "did it ever occur to you that
if you were two feet shorter, and clean-shaven, with a different nose
and a smaller mouth, and a shorter chin and a bigger brow, and less
curve to your arms when you walk, you would resemble Napoleon
Bonaparte?"

The General was evidently pleased by my compliment.

"Do you think so?" said he, with a smile which absolutely froze my
soul.

"I do," I said, meekly, and then I began to weep. I was really unnerved,
and began to wish I had never accepted the commission. He was so
frightfully cold-blooded, and toyed with a stiletto of razor-like
sharpness so carelessly that I was truly terrified.

"Don't cry, Gypsy," he said. "War is a terrible thing, but we will beat
those Yankee pigs yet." This, of course, was before peace was declared.

The remark nerved me up again. He believed in me, and that was half the
battle.

"Oh, I hope so, General," I sobbed. "But how? Poor old Spain has nothing
to fight with."

"Spain has me, señorita!" he cried, passionately. "And I single-handed
will give them battle."

"But you do not know the country, General," said I. "Don't risk your
life, I beg of you--our only hope! I haven't a doubt that in a fight
with pigs you will win; but, General, the United States is so vast, so
complicated; it is full of pitfalls!"

I could see that I had him worked up.

[Illustration: "I AM TOO OLD A SPANIARD TO BE CAUGHT LIKE THAT"]

"Señorita," he cried, "fear not for Weyler. Think you that I do not know
America! Ha--ha! I know its every inch. And let me tell you this: it is
because I have devoted hour after hour, day after day, night after
night, to the study of the United States, and, best of all, they do not
suspect it over there. Why? Because of my strategy! When I wished to
learn where was situated the city of Ohio did I send to New York for a
map? Not I. I knew that if I bought a map in New York, the house of
which I bought it would advertise me as one of their patrons. I am too
old a Spaniard to be caught like that." Here his voice sank to a
whisper, and, leaning forward, he added, impressively: "I sent for a
railway time-table. Figures express to my mind what lines or maps could
not express to others. What did I learn from the New York Central
time-table, for instance? This: Ohio is twelve hours from New York.
Good, say you--but what does that mean? Travelling at the rate of four
miles an hour, Ohio is just forty-eight miles from New York city!
Forty-eight miles! Pah! By forced marches our troops could cover that in
ten days."

The General snapped his fingers.

"But why Ohio, General?" I asked.

"The most important city in the American Union," he replied. "Ohio
captured, we have the home of McKinley. Ohio captured, we have captured
eighty per cent. of the Yankees' public officials. Your Minister of
State comes from there; all the vocal powers of the Senate; all their
political resource. Ah!" he cried, ecstatically, rubbing his hands
together, "they little know me! Let them destroy our navy. Let them take
the Philippines. Let them blockade Cuba. Let them do what they please.
Spain will wait. Spain will wait a day, a week, a month, a year, a
decade, a century--but when least expected, a new fleet, built
secretly, a new army, recruiting now on the D. Q." (this is a
translation) "will dash into New York Harbor, up the Missouri River,
through the Raritan Canal, and Ohio will lie at our mercy."

"And then?" said I, overwhelmed.

"We'll hold Ohio until the pig gives back the Philippines and Cuba,"
said the General, suavely.

"Now, General," said I, pursing my lips, "your plan is a mighty good
one, and I hope you'll try to put it through. But let me tell you one
thing--your time-tables have misled you. In the first place, any part of
Ohio worth talking of is eighteen hours from New York by rail, not
twelve. New York Harbor is mined all the way from Fortress Monroe to the
Golden Gate; and you can't get to Ohio by a dash up the Missouri River
and the Raritan Canal, because those two waterways above Los Angeles are
not navigable. It is very evident that you, in studying a railroad map,
have forgotten that they are designed to advertise railroads, and have
no geographical significance whatsoever."

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Perfectly," said I. "I have lived in the country, as I have told you,
for three years, and I know what I am talking about."

"Then what shall I do to attack Ohio?" he demanded.

"Well," said I, "the question is not easy to answer, but I think if you
would first capture Hoboken--"

"Yes," he said, making a note of my suggestion.

"And then take your transports, guarded by your fighting-ships, out as
far as Rahway--" I continued.

"I have it here," said he, putting it down.

"Land your troops there, and send 150,000 south to Bangor, and 100,000
north to Louisville, Kentucky, with a mere handful of sharp-shooters to
overawe the Seminoles at Seattle, and then let these troops close
in"--said I.

"I understand," said he, enthusiastically.

"If you will do that," I put in, "you'll come as near to capturing Ohio
as any man can come."

The General rose up and excitedly paced the floor.

"Señorita!" he said, at length, "you have done your country a service.
But for you my plans would all have fallen through, because based upon
the unreliable information put forth upon an ignorant people by corrupt
railway officials. I have studied with care every railway map issued in
the United States for ten years past. I had supposed that Ohio could be
reached by way of the Missouri and the Raritan. I had supposed that to
bring about the fall of Nebraska where their immortal General--for I
admit that those pigs have occasionally produced a man--O'Bryan lives,
it could be attacked by a land and sea force simultaneously, should the
land forces approach the city from the Chicago side, and the fleet pass
the forts at Galveston and sail up Chesapeake Bay without further
molestation. I see, from what you have told me, that these maps are
_falsus in uno_ anyhow. I am wondering now if they are not _falsus in
omnibus_."

"I shouldn't be surprised if they were even _falsus in trolleybus_," I
put in, with a feeble attempt at humor. "Certainly they have misled you,
General."

"But," he cried, angrily, "I am not to be thwarted. My ultimate idea
remains unchanged. On to Ohio is my watchword. When that falls, the rest
will be easy. Thanks to the information you have given, I now know how
it may be done, and I assure you, señorita, that you will not be
forgotten in the--ah--the--" here his sallow features grew animated, and
a flush of real pleasure crossed them as he finished--"in
the--ah--reorganization."

"There is to be a reorganization, then?" I asked.

"Yes," he answered. "That is certain, and, on the whole, it is good
that there is to be. People are always pleased with that which is novel,
and up to this time there have been no kings on the throne bearing the
name of Valeriano. _I_ think Valeriano the First will make a very pretty
autograph. Don't you?"

"Indeed I do!" I cried. "Write one for me, won't you?"

But the sagacious warrior merely winked his eye, and by a swish of his
machete courteously gave me to understand that the audience was over.

I immediately cabled to Washington the results of my interview, and, by
the time I got back to London, had the pleasure of reading in the
newspapers that the United States Senate had confirmed my appointment of
First Assistant Vivandière to the Department of Manila, with the rank of
captain, for services rendered, wherefore I have given up the pleasant
task of interviewing celebrities for the sterner duties of war.

I was glad also to learn that the Administration, acting upon my
advices, had taken steps to make Ohio impregnable by sea in any event.
The Gibraltar of American politics should not be allowed to fall into
the hands of a ruthless Castilian like Weyler, and, frankly, whatever
else our government will permit, I do not think it will ever do this,
and as long as we possess Ohio we need have no fear that we shall be
governed by foreign people.

THE END

By GEORGE DU MAURIER

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The Grave of Solon Regh

                          By CHAS. A. STEARNS

              _Among the miserable Ghels of southern Mars
              George Seeling ventured--ready to share his
             fearless feats with all the world--but hardly
               ready to share the grave of Solon Regh._

                      Planet Stories Winter 1954.

George Seeling was one of the most personable ghouls you would ever
care to meet. When he disappeared three years ago, somewhere in the
unexplored wilderness of southern Mars, his loss was mourned not only
by the Terran Museum of Natural History, for whom he worked, but by a
multitude of lovers of adventure by proxy, as well, who kept up with
his astounding fortunes through their daily papers.

For George Seeling, who feared nothing that walked, crawled, flew, or
pulsed, and who owned, moreover, a shining pair of seven league boots,
in the form of an inexhaustible expense account, believed in sharing
himself with the public. He adored publicity.

There was the time, for instance, that he made off with the crown
jewels of the Tsarn Princess of Ganymede. The people loved it. All of
them excepting, of course, the Ganymedians. They were considerably
upset, but being a minority group, there was not much that they could
do, once Seeling had escaped with the jewels.

Then there was the celebrated occasion of his robbing the crypts of
Nakor, the Moon Goddess of Io. From Io he swiped several golden idols
of inestimable value, which was just as well, for they were not doing
the natives the least bit of good, despite their complaints. It almost
caused an international incident, but the Museum kept the treasure, and
their procurer collected a fat commission.

This, as one can readily see, demonstrates graphically that George
Seeling felt almost as much at home in tombs as he did in the public
eye.

The south of Mars is a rugged land of naked, red peaks and deep,
impassable canyons; of reed-filled swamp lands and barren plateaus. The
people who live there are primitive, and thin as greyhounds, but of a
shy, gentle nature, with huge, dark, melting eyes set deep in leathery,
purplish skin, and nervous, splayed bare feet that can pad the sands
of the uplands at incredible speed.

To George Seeling the ghels were merely an incidental impression to
add to the menagerie of weird people from many worlds that already
stuffed his brain and made him rather a cosmopolitan with regard to
alien cultures. He had already spent several weeks on Mars; most of it
in Parthena, the chief spaceport of southern Mars, where he haunted the
bars of the native district, asking, seeking, wheedling, bribing, until
he found what he sought--a man who could lead him to one of the old
cities that lay hidden back in the hills.

So it came about that he landed himself and his guide in a rented
'copter on a certain, uncharted mountainside to the south and west of
Parthena.

Through the field glasses, the minarets of the city were just visible,
but it was impossible to get any closer for there was no place to land.
The old Martians had been averse to flat roofs, a circumstance which
led Seeling to doubt, audibly, that they could have had the sense of an
addled eel.

After loading himself down with the paraphernalia that explorers are
supposed to carry, he went on alone, the guide declining an invitation
to accompany him.

It was almost dark when he stumbled over the first bit of masonry--some
prehistoric curbstone, perhaps. He had walked for hours in a tangled
forest of giant reeds, and the suddenness of his discovery startled him.

He had wandered right into the midst of the abandoned city without even
knowing it. Such was the customary luck of George Seeling. He could see
shadowy outlines of some of the eroding old towers from where he stood,
but he knew it was too late in the evening to explore them safely. He
had waited this long; it wouldn't hurt to wait through one more short,
Martian night.

He found a clearing near a roofless columnar tower and spread his
sleeping bag beneath its wall. He went to sleep elated with his good
fortune, and slept dreamlessly, and without disturbance.

But then, it took a great deal to disturb George Seeling when he slept.

In the morning the ghels were there. There were about a dozen of them,
silently squatting in a semi-circle about his camp, contemplating him
at a respectful distance with their soulful, gazelle eyes.

There is something disconcerting about waking up and finding that one
has acquired uninvited guests, but Seeling never turned a hair. He
reached over and grabbed his rifle, but the ghels never moved. They
looked, for all the world, like purple-brown graven images squatting
there, except that the round, black eyes blinked once in a while.

The ghel tongue was a very rudimentary one, and Seeling, who was
naturally adept at such things, had studied it at some length during
the weeks in Parthena. He felt that he could get along.

"I greet you," he said, still fondling his rifle. "I am an Earthman."

"We know," one of the ghels said in a curious, whistling voice. "What
do you want here?"

"I come to see the city," George said.

"This is the sacred dead city of Solon Regh, the wisest of the ancient
ones. We do not welcome visitors here."

"It's not your city, dammit," George said.

"What did you say?"

"Sorry, I said, this is not the work of your race. Why do you care if I
look around?"

"It is a shrine. The old ones took care of us before they went away. We
loved them, and do not want their dead disturbed."

George Seeling grinned with delight. He never enjoyed himself so much
as when he was where he wasn't supposed to be.

"We would be very sad if the dead were desecrated," the ghel said.

"Umm," said Seeling impudently, "but what would you do if I went ahead
and desecrated them anyway?"

The head ghel looked shocked. He turned his saucer eyes on his
companions, and they all squirmed on their haunches and looked shocked
too.

"We would be very sad," the ghel answered.

"No hard feelings," George Seeling said, "but if the advancement of
science and the dispersal of knowledge were left up to you fellows, the
world would be in a hell of a fix." He aimed his rifle suggestively at
the ghel's chest. "Do you know what this is that I am pointing at you?"

"It is a death stick. We have seen them before."

"Right. Now, there's something you can do for me, and I'll take it very
kindly if you cooperate."

"Kindness is something we understand."

"That's fine. Somewhere about here are the tombs of the old race. All
the legends of Mars tell about the wealth of the ancients, and I hear
this Solon Regh was sort of a Martian King Tut. Lead me there, and I'll
be kind enough to spare your life."

The ghels all blinked their eyes rapidly. Seeling fancied that there
would have been tears in their eyes, except that ghels have no tear
glands. He felt a little sorry for them.

"Come with us," the leader of the ghels said.

Seeling was properly impressed. He had seen enough of the old cultures
of the planets to realize that here, indeed, was something special. The
walls loomed high above his head, shutting out the light of the morning
sun as he walked down the street canyons where the vegetation had not
yet penetrated. The ghels padded on ahead of him.

There was a musty smell about the place. Most appropriate. And the old
timers had quite a flair for architecture, he thought. The masonry was
a kind of cemented substance that was nearly as hard as granite. The
weather had eroded it into a lovely, pearly grayness that was satiny
smooth to the touch. He stroked the walls lovingly, and wished that he
could transport the whole place back to Earth.

At the end of one street a bright yellow kral snake struck at him and
he killed it with the butt of his rifle. They encountered no other
life. Everywhere there was silence.

The ghels made several turns through narrow passageways, and all at
once Seeling was face to face with the most breathtaking sight he had
ever beheld.

In a great, hidden courtyard the palace lay. It was at least six
hundred feet high, from massive base to delicate multiple pinnacles
that festooned the arched roof. The facade was inscribed with countless
lacy designs, set into the mother masonry with snowy white stones.

The great arched doorway gaped open invitingly to the kind of darkness
that Seeling found most exciting.

The ghels stopped. "You are certain that you will not change your mind?"

"Look here," Seeling said. "I've come here to collect artifacts, or
anything I can lay my hands on for my people on Earth. If I don't bring
something good back, they'll send others who won't be as patient with
you as I am."

"That is sad, indeed, for the Radiance that made us still lingers in
the castle," said the ghel.

"I'm not going to hurt His Radiant Majesty, whoever he is," Seeling
said. "What I want is junk--stuff that you never use anyhow. So let's
get on with it."

George Seeling was panting by the time he had climbed to the top of the
central tower. He had always thought of a tomb as some damp, dark hole
beneath the surface of the ground, for such had been his experience
many times before. But the resting place of Solon Regh the Wise was a
large, light room, not half so eerie as the big throne room below, for
instance.

It took him five minutes to work the mechanism of the outer door. When
he got it open he went in and found a convenient coffin to sit on,
wiped the sweat from his forehead, and indulged in a cigarette before
continuing.

The room had no windows, but there was light coming in from the
great transparent dome of roof. A cheerful place, he thought, for a
crypt. There were six coffins in the room, neatly arranged around its
periphery. He wondered which one was Solon Regh's.

All of the biers were plain, untarnished metal--a silvery alloy he
couldn't quite identify. Upon one of them there was a modest crest, or
symbol. That one, he decided, must be the coffin of Solon Regh.

He was feeling a little ill. A headache from the altitude, he thought.
Or perhaps he'd caught a touch of the fever. Better to get it over with
and get out of here. All the pleasure of discovery was gone now.

He took out his array of chisels and went to work on the coffin, which
yielded easily to his professional looter's touch. The lid was light
and slid aside soundlessly.

George Seeling came face to face with Solon Regh. The relics of
Regh the Wise seemed to be in perfect condition. Over all lay a
semi-transparent coating of a waxy substance--the preservative, he
supposed. The figure was as large as his own. The old race must have
been much closer, genetically, to his own than the ghels.

But Seeling was not concerned with any of this. He flopped Solon
Regh over on his belly without ceremony and examined the bottom of
the coffin. It was no use. No treasure here. He did find something,
however. The ring on Solon Regh's finger. He chipped off the
preservative, slid the ring off and put it in his pocket. Then he
examined the other coffins. Wives, perhaps, and dignitaries of court,
these had been. There were both male and female. But no jewelry.

He searched the room carefully, but there was nothing to be found.
It had not been their custom, then, to bury their treasures with
the dead--or perhaps the ghels had taken it. No matter, he knew the
futility of looking further.

When a race chose to hide its treasures, rather than try to take them
along to the happy hunting grounds, they usually did a good job. He
remembered searching in vain for a solid year in the catacombs of
Neptune once.

His face was burning with some inner fire now; he knew that he must
have a high fever. He felt much worse. But to go back empty handed!

And suddenly he knew that he would not.

He took the steps back down to the throne room three at a time, for he
felt, strangely, that he must hurry. The ghels were still waiting for
him there in the gloom. There seemed to be more of them now, but he
didn't bother to count.

"I want eight of you," he said. "You are to come with me up to the
crypts. I'm taking the coffin of Solon Regh back with me, and you are
going to carry it. I don't want any arguments. I'll pay you whatever
you want, but it's got to be done right away."

They were not a strong race, the ghels, and the box was without
handles, but they finally got it to their shoulders. Twice coming down
the spiraling staircases they slipped, and he cursed them furiously,
then was amazed that he could be so distraught.

They carried it down to the throneroom and set it down. The big rotunda
was full of ghels by this time; hundreds of them.

"What the hell is this?" George Seeling said, and his voice sounded
thick to him. "If you're going to start trouble--I'll kill the first
ghel that lays a hand on me or the coffin."

He waited for an answer. There was not a sound among the dark multitude
of ghels. They watched him, sorrowfully.

"Well?" Seeling bellowed.

The ghel who had talked with him before said, "We are gathered here for
a telling. Will you crouch there and hear us?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Please hear us."

Seeling looked around him. Better not to antagonize them at that, he
supposed, since it seemed that they had no intentions, at present, of
doing anything drastic.

He waited.

"Long ago," the ghel said, "there were the old ones. They were as gods,
and knew great magic. All was happiness. But the magic was not great
enough, for one day there came invaders from beyond the stars, and
sprayed the cities with green fire that was so light that its touch
could not be felt, and yet it killed in great numbers--and the rest it
changed.

"Solon Regh, who was wise, took his family about him and hid in the
tower behind air-tight doors where the green fire could not come. Many
weeks he stayed there, with an air purifier to keep out the radiance,
and let in fresh air, and at last the enemy left. The ones who were
left had changed more and more, so that even in their heads they were
affected, and could scarcely take care of themselves.

"Solon Regh, from behind his steel door, where the pure air was,
sorrowed for us, and counseled us to pick up our lives as best we
could. He did not dare come out because the radiance did not leave, but
hung about the palace. We did not care any more. We knew the radiance
would always be there, but it could not hurt us now. Solon Regh and
his family did all they could for us, and remembered all the wonderful
knowledge that we had forgotten. They tried to teach us, but we had
forgotten how to learn, too."

"We? We?" George Seeling screamed. "What are you talking about?"

"We ghels. Do you not understand? _We_ were the old ones."

"Oh, God!" George said.

"The Radiance is still in the buildings. That is what we tried to tell
you before. But it is too late now. It has touched you."

"Let me out of here!" Seeling sobbed. "I won't be changed by any damned
radiation. I'll go back to Earth. They'll help me. They'll know what to
do. He-help me, dammit!"

"You will not go back," the ghel said. "I am sorry, but you really
cannot go back like this; you will be more at home here from now on."

All the ghels looked at George Seeling with sad, limpid stares. They
were silent. There wasn't any more to be said. Nothing that they could
think of.

And George Seeling, squatting there, gazed back at them with big,
saucer eyes.


arranged about its sixty-square-mile area, could at a moment's notice
produce any variety of breeze he chanced to wish; and its submarine
bottom was so designed that if a heavy sea were wanted to make the
yacht pitch and toss, a simple mechanical device would cause it to
hump itself into such corrugations, large or small, as were needed to
bring about the desired conditions.

"Do they allow bathing in that?" I asked, as the Major Domo explained
the peculiar feature of this in-door sea to me.

My companion laughed. "Only one person ever tried it with any degree
of success, and it nearly cost him his reputation. Old Bacchus
undertook to swim on a wager from Chambertin Inlet to Glenlivet Bay,
but he had to give up before he got as far as Pommery Point. It took
him a year to get rid of his headache, and it actually required
three-quarters of the Treasury Reserve to provide gold enough to cure
him."

"It must be a terrible place to fall overboard in," I suggested.

"It is, if you fall head first," said the Major Domo, "and my
observation is that most people do."

"I should admire to sail upon it," I said, gazing back through the
door that opened upon Jupiter's yachting parlors, and realizing on a
sudden a powerful sense of thirst.

"I have no doubt you can do so," said the Major Domo. "Indeed, I
understand that his Majesty contemplates taking you for a sail to the
lost island of Atlantis before you return to earth."

"What?" I cried. "The lost island of Atlantis here?"

"Of course," said my guide. "Why not? It was too beautiful for earth,
so Jupiter had it transported to his own private yachting pond, and it
has been here ever since. It is marvellously beautiful."

Hardly had I recovered from my amazement over the Major Domo's
announcement when he pointed to another open door.

"The Royal Arena," he said, simply. "That is where we have our
Olympian Games. There was a football game there yesterday. Too bad you
were not there. It was the liveliest game of the season. All Hades
played the Olympian eleven for the championship of the universe. We
licked 'em four hundred to nothing; but of course we had an
exceptional team. When Hercules is in shape there isn't a man-jack in
all Hades that can withstand him. He's rush-line, centre, full-back,
half-back, and flying wedge, all rolled into one. Then the Hades chaps
made the bad mistake of sending a star team. When you have an eleven
made up of Hannibal and Julius Cæsar and Alexander the Great and
Napoleon Bonaparte and the Duke of Wellington and Achilles and other
fellows like that you can't expect any team-play. Each man is thinking
about himself all the time. Hercules could walk right through 'em,
and, when they begin to pose, it's mere child's play for him. The only
chap that put up any game against us at all was Samson, and I tell
you, now that his hair's grown again, he's a demon on the gridiron.
But we divided up our force to meet that difficulty. Hercules put the
rest of our eleven on to Samson, while he took care, personally, of
all the other Hadesians. And you should have seen how he handled them!
It was beautiful, all through. He nearly got himself ruled off in the
second half. He became so excited at one time towards the end that he
mistook Pompey for the ball and kicked him through the goal-posts from
the forty-yard line. Of course, it didn't count, and Hercules
apologized so gracefully to the rest of the visitors that they
withdrew their protest and let him play on."

"I should think he would have apologized to Pompey," said I.

[Illustration: "'THE CHAMPIONSHIP OF THE UNIVERSE'"]

"He will when Pompey recovers consciousness," said my guide, simply.

So interested was I in the Royal Arena and its recent game that I
forgot all about Jupiter.

"I never thought of Hercules as a football player before," I said,
"but it is easy to see how he might become the champion of Olympus."

"Oh, is it!" laughed the Major Domo. "Well, you'd better not tell
Jupiter that. Jupiter'd be pleased, he would. Why, my dear friend,
he'd pack you back to earth quicker than a wink. He brooks only one
champion of anything here, and that's himself. Hercules threw him in a
wrestling-match once, and the next day Jupiter turned him into a
weeping-willow, and didn't let up on him for five hundred years
afterwards."

By this time we had reached one of the most superbly vaulted chambers
it has ever been my pleasure to look upon. Above me the ceiling
seemed to reach into infinity, and on either side were huge recesses
and alcoves of almost unfathomable depth, lit by great balls of fire
that diffused their light softly and yet brilliantly through all parts
and corners of the apartment.

"The library," said the Major Domo, pointing to tier upon tier of
teeming shelves, upon which stood a wonderful array of exquisitely
bound volumes to a number past all counting.

I was speechless with the grandeur of it all.

"It is sublime," said I. "How many volumes?"

"Unnumbered, and unnumberable by mortals, but in round, immortal
figures just one jovillion."

"One jovillion, eh?" said I. "How many is that in mortal figures?"

"A jovillion is the supreme number," explained the guide. "It is the
infinity of millions, and therefore cannot be expressed in mortal
terms."

"Then," said I, "you can have no more books."

"No," said he. "But what of that? We have all there are and all that
are to be. You see, the library is divided into three parts. On the
right-hand side are all the books that ever have been written; here to
the left you see all the books that are being written; and farther
along, beginning where that staircase rises, are all the books that
ever will be written."

I gasped. If this were true, this wonderful collection must contain my
own complete works, some of which I have doubtless not even thought of
as yet. How easy it would be for me, I thought, to write my future
books if Jupiter would only let me loose here with a competent
stenographer to copy off the pages of manuscript as yet undreamed of!
I suggested this to the Major Domo.

"He wouldn't let you," he said. "It would throw the whole scheme out
of gear."

"I don't see why," I ventured.

"It is simple," rejoined the Major Domo. "If you were permitted to
read the books that some day will be identified with your name, as a
sensible man, observing beforehand how futile and trivial they are to
be, some of them, you wouldn't write them, and so you would be able to
avoid a part, at least, of your destiny. If mortals were able to do
that--well, they'd become immortals, a good many of them."

I realized the justice of this precaution, and we passed on in
silence.

"Now," said the Major Domo, after we had traversed the length of the
library, "we are almost there. That gorgeous door directly ahead of
you is the entrance to Jupiter's reception-room. Before we enter,
however, we must step into the office of Midas, on the left."

"Midas?" I said. "And what, pray, is his function? Is he the
registrar?"

"No, indeed," laughed the Major Domo. "I presume down where you live
he would be called the Court Tailor. The sartorial requirements of
Jupiter are so regal that none of his guests, invited or otherwise,
could afford, even with the riches of Cr[oe]sus, to purchase the
apparel which he demands. Hence he keeps Midas here to supply, at his
expense, the garments in which his visitors may appear before him. You
didn't think you were going into Jupiter's presence in those golf
duds, did you?"

"I never thought anything about it," said I. "But how long will it
take Midas to fit me out?"

"He touches your garments, that's all," said my guide, "and in that
instant they are changed to robes of richest gold. We then place a
necklace of gems about your neck, composed of rubies, emeralds,
amethysts, and sapphires, alternating with pearls, none smaller than a
hen's egg; next we place a jewelled staff of ebony in your hand; a
golden helmet, having at either side the burnished wings of the
imperial eagles of Jove, and bearing upon its crest an opal that
glistens like the sun through the slight haze of a translucent cloud,
will be placed upon your head; richly decorated sandals of cloth of
gold will adorn your feet, and about your waist a girdle of linked
diamonds--beside which the far-famed Orloff diamond of the Russian
treasury is an insignificant bit of glass--will be clasped."

"And--wha--wha--what becomes of all this when I get back home?" I
gasped, a vision of future ease rising before my tired eyes.

"You take it with you, if you can," laughed the Major Domo, with a sly
wink at one of the Amazons who accompanied him as a sort of aide.

It was all as he said. In two minutes I had entered the room of Midas;
in three minutes, my golf-coat having been removed, a flowing gown of
silk, touched by his magic hand and turned to glittering gold, rested
upon my shoulders. It was pretty heavy, but I bore up under it; the
helmet and the necklace, the shoes and the girdle were adjusted; the
staff was placed in my hand, and with beating heart I emerged once
more into the corridor and stood before the door leading into the
audience-chamber.

"Remove the goggles," whispered the Major Domo.

"Never!" I cried. "I shall be blinded."

"Nonsense!" said he, quickly. "Off with them," and he flicked them
from my nose himself.

A great blare of trumpets sounded, the door was thrown wide, and with
a cry of amazement I stepped backward, awed and afraid; but one glance
was reassuring, for truly a wonderful sight confronted me, and one
that will prove as surprising to him who reads as it was to me upon
that marvellous day.

X

An Extraordinary Interview

I had expected to witness a scene of grandeur, and my fancy had
conjured up, as the central figure thereof, the majestic form of Jove
himself, clad in imperial splendor. But it was the unexpected that
happened, for, as the door closed behind me, I found myself in a plain
sort of workshop, such as an ordinary man would have in his own house,
at one end of which stood a rolling-top desk, and, instead of the
dazzling throne I had expected to see, there stood in front of it an
ordinary office-chair that twirled on a pivot. Books and papers were
strewn about the floor and upon the tables; the pictures on the walls
were made up largely of colored sporting prints of some rarity, and in
a corner stood a commonplace globe such as is to be found in use in
public schools to teach children geography. As I glanced about me my
first impression was that by some odd mischance I had got into the
wrong room, which idea was fortified by the fact that, instead of an
imperial figure clad in splendid robes, a quiet-looking old gentleman,
who, except for his dress, might have posed for a cartoon of the
accepted American Populist, stood before me. He was dressed in a plain
frock-coat, four-in-hand tie, high collar, dark-gray trousers, and
patent-leather boots, and was brushing up a silk hat as I entered.

"Excuse me, sir," I said, "but I--I fear I have stumbled into the
wrong room. I--ah--I have had the wholly unexpected honor to be
granted an audience with Jupiter, and I was told that this was the
audience-chamber."

"Don't apologize. Sit down," he replied, taking me by the hand and
shaking it cordially. "You are all right; I'm glad to see you. How
goes the world with you?"

"Very well indeed, sir," I replied, rather embarrassed by the old
fellow's cordiality. "But I really can't sit down, because, you know,
I--I don't want to keep his Majesty waiting, and if you'll excuse me,
I'll--"

"Oh, nonsense!" he retorted. "Let the old man wait. Sit down and talk
to me. I don't get a chance to talk with mortals very often. This is
your first visit to Olympus?"

"Yes, sir," I said, still standing. "And it is wholly unexpected. I
stumbled upon the place by the merest chance last night--but you
_must_ let me go, sir. I'll come back later very gladly and talk with
you if I get a chance. It will never do for me to keep his Majesty
waiting, you know."

"Oh, the deuce with his Majesty," said the old gentleman, testily.
"What do you want to see him for? He's an old fossil."

"Granted," said I. "Still, I'm interested in old fossils."

The old gentleman roared with laughter at this apparently simple
remark. I didn't see the fun of it myself, and his mirth irritated me.

"Excuse me, my dear sir," I said, trying to control my impatience.
"But you don't seem to understand my position. I can't stay here and
talk to you while the ruler of Olympus waits. Can't you see that?"

"No, I can't," he replied. "Can't see it at all, and I'm a pretty good
seer as a general thing, too. If you didn't wish to see me, you had
no business to come into my room. Now that you are here, I'm going to
keep you for a little while. Take off that absurd-looking tile and sit
down."

At this I grew angry. I wasn't responsible for the helmet I wore, and
I had felt all along that I looked like an ass in it.

"I'll do nothing of the sort, you confounded old meddler," I cried.
"I've come here on invitation, and, if I've got into the wrong room,
it isn't my fault. That jackass of a Major Domo told me this was the
place. Let me out."

I strode to the doorway, and the old gentleman turned to his desk and
opened a drawer.

"Cigar or cigarette?" he said, calmly.

"Neither, you old fool," I retorted, turning the knob and tugging upon
it. "I have no time for a smoke."

The door was locked. The old gentleman settled back in his twirling
chair and regarded me with a twinkle in his eye as I vainly tried to
pull the door open, and I realized that I was helpless.

"Better sit down and enjoy a quiet smoke with me," he said, calmly.
"Take off that absurd-looking tile and talk to me."

"I haven't anything to say to you," I replied. "Not a word. Do you
intend to let me out of this or not?"

"All in good time--all in good time," he said. "Let's talk it over.
Why do you wish to go? Don't you find me good company?"

"You're a stupid old idiot!" I shouted, almost weeping with rage.
"Locking me up in your rotten old den here when you must realize what
you are depriving me of. What earthly good it does you I can't see."

[Illustration: "THE DOOR WAS LOCKED"]

"It does me lots of good," he said, with a chuckle. "Really, sir, it
gives me a new sensation--first new sensation I have had in a long,
long time. Let me see now, just how many names have you called me in
the three minutes I have had the pleasure of your acquaintance?"

"Give me time, and I'll call you a lot more," I retorted, sullenly.

"Good--I'll give you the time," he said. "Go ahead. I'll listen to you
for a whole hour. What am I besides a meddler, and a stupid old idiot,
and an old fool?"

"You're a gray-headed maniac, and a--a zinc-fastened Zany. A doddering
dotard and a chimerical chump," I said.

"Splendid!" roared he, with a spasm of laughter that seemed nearly to
rend him. "Go on. Keep it up. I am enjoying myself hugely."

"You're a sneak-livered poltroon to treat me this way," I added,
indignantly.

"That's the best yet," he interrupted, slapping his knee with delight.
"Sneak-livered poltroon, eh? Well, well, well. Go on. Go on."

"If you'll give me a copy of Roget's _Thesaurus_, I'll tell you what
else you are," I retorted, with a note of sarcasm in my voice. "It
will require a reference to that book to do you justice. I can't begin
to carry all that you are in my mind."

"With pleasure," said he, and reaching over to his bookcase he took
thence the desired volume and handed it to me. "Proceed," he added. "I
am all ears."

"Most jackasses are," I returned, savagely.

"Magnificent," he cried, ecstatically. "You are a genius at epithet.
But there's the book. Let me light a cigar for you and then you can
begin. Only _do_ take off that absurd tile. You don't know how
supremely unbecoming it is."

There was nothing for it, so I resolved to make the best of it by
meeting the disagreeable old pantaloon on his own ground. I lit one of
his cigars and sat down to tell the curious old freak what I thought
of him. Ordinarily I would have avoided doing this, but his tyrannical
exercise of his temporary advantage made me angry to the very core of
my being.

"Ready?" said I.

"Quite," said he. "Don't stint yourself. Just behave as if you'd known
me all your life. I sha'n't mind."

And I began: "Well, after referring to the word 'idiot' in the index,
just to get a lead," I said, "I shall begin by saying that you are
evidently a hebetudinous imbecile, an indiscriminate stult--"

"Hold on!" he cried. "What's that last? I never heard the term
before."

"Stult--an indiscriminate stult," I said, scornfully. "I invented the
word myself. Real words won't describe you. Stult is a new term,
meaning all kinds of a fool, plus two. And I've got a few more if you
want them."

"Want them?" he cried. "By Vulcan, I dote upon them! They are nectar
to my thirsty ears. Go on."

"You are a senseless frivoler, a fugacious gid, an infamous
hoddydoddy; you are a man with the hoe with the emptiness of ages in
your face; you are a brother to the ox, with all the dundering
niziness of a plain, ordinary buzzard added to your shallow-brained
asininity. Now will you let me go?"

"Not I," said he, shaking his head as if he relished a situation which
was gradually making a madman of me. "I'd like to oblige you, but I
really can't. You are giving me too much pleasure. Is there nothing
more you can call me?"

"You're a dizzard!" I retorted. "And a noodle and a jolt-head; you're
a jobbernowl and a doodle, a maundering mooncalf and a blockheaded
numps, a gaby and a loon; you're a _Hatter_!" I shrieked the last
epithet.

"Heavens!" he cried, "A Hatter! Am I as bad as that?"

"Oh, come now," I said, closing the _Thesaurus_ with a bang. "Have
some regard for my position, won't you?"

I had resolved to appeal to his better nature. "I don't know who the
dickens you are. You may be the three wise men of Gotham who went to
sea in a bowl rolled into one, for all I know. You may be any old
thing. I don't give a tinker's cuss what you are. Under ordinary
circumstances I've no doubt I should find you a very pleasant old
gentleman, but under present conditions you are a blundering old
bore."

"That's not bad--indeed, a blundering old bore is pretty good. Let me
see," he continued, looking up the word "bore" in the index of the
_Thesaurus_, "What else am I? Maybe I'm an unmitigated nuisance, an
exasperating and egregious glum, a carking care, and a pestiferous
pill, eh?"

"You are all of that," I said, wearily. "Your meanness surpasseth all
things. I've met a good many tough characters in my day, but you are
the first I have ever encountered without a redeeming feature. You
take advantage of a mistake for which I am not at all responsible, and
what do you do?"

"Tell me," he replied. "What do I do? I shall be delighted to hear.
I've been asking myself that question for years. What do I do? Go on,
I implore you."

"You rub it in, that's what," I retorted. "You take advantage of me.
You bait me; you incommode me. You--you--"

"Here, take the _Thesaurus_," he said, as I hesitated for the word.
"It will help you. I provoke you, I irritate you, I make you mad, I
sour your temper, I sicken, disgust, revolt, nauseate, repel you. I
rankle your soul. I jar you--is that it?"

"Give me the book," I cried, desperately. "Yes!" I added, referring to
the page. "You tease, irk, harry, badger, infest, persecute. You gall,
sting, and convulse me. You are a plain old beast, that's what you
are. You're a conscienceless sneak and a wherret--you mean-souled blot
on the face of nature!"

Here I broke down and wept, and the old gentleman's sides shook with
laughter. He was, without exception, the most extraordinary old person
I had ever encountered, and in my tears I cursed the English language
because it was inadequate properly to describe him.

For a time there was silence. I was exhausted and my tormentor was
given over to his own enjoyment of my discomfiture. Finally, however,
he spoke.

"I'm a pretty old man, my dear fellow," he said. "I shouldn't like to
tell you how old, because if I did you'd begin on the _Thesaurus_
again with the word 'liar' for your lead. Nevertheless, I'm pretty
old; but I want to say to you that in all my experience I have never
had so diverting a half-hour as you have given me. You have been so
outspoken, so frank--"

"Oh, indeed--I've been frank, have I?" I interrupted. "Well, what I
have said isn't a marker to what I'd like to have said and would have
said if language hadn't its limitations. You are the infinity of the
unmitigated, the supreme of the superfluous. In unqualified,
inexcusable, unsurpassable meanness you are the very IT!"

"Sir," said the old gentleman, rising and bowing, "you are a man of
unusual penetration, and I like you. I should like to see more of you,
but your hour has expired. I thank you for your pleasant words, and I
bid you an affectionate good-morning."

A deep-toned bell struck the hour of twelve. A fanfare of trumpets
sounded outside, and the huge door flew open, and without a word in
reply, glad of my deliverance, I turned and fled precipitately through
it. The sumptuous guard stood outside to receive me, and as the door
closed behind me the band struck up a swelling measure that I shall
not soon forget.

"Well," said the Major Domo, as we proceeded back to my quarters, "did
he receive you nicely?"

"Who?" said I.

"Jupiter, of course," he said.

"I didn't see him," I replied, sadly. "I fell in with a beastly old
bore who wouldn't let go of me. You showed me into the wrong room. Who
was that old beggar, anyhow?"

"Beggar?" he cried. "Wrong room? Beggar?"

"Certainly," said I. "Beggar is mild, I admit. But he's all that and
much more. Who is he?"

"I don't know what you mean," replied the Major Domo. "But you have
been for the last hour with his Majesty himself."

"What?" I cried. "I--that old man--we--"

"The old gentleman was Jupiter. Didn't he tell you? He made a special
effort to make you feel at home--put himself on a purely mortal
basis--"

I fell back, limp and nerveless.

"What will he think of me?" I moaned, as I realized what had
happened.

[Illustration: "'WHAT?' I CRIED. 'I--THAT OLD MAN--WE'"]

"He thinks you are the best yet," said the Major Domo. "He has sent
word by his messenger, Mercury, that the honors of Olympus are to be
showered upon you to their fullest extent. He says you are the only
frank mortal he ever met."

And with this I was escorted back to my rooms at the hotel, impressed
with the idea that all is not lead that doesn't glitter, and when I
thought of my invention of the word "stult," I began to wish I had
never been born.

XI

A Royal Outing

As may be imagined after my untoward interview with Jupiter, the state
of my mind was far from easy. It is not pleasant to realize that you
have applied every known epithet of contempt to a god who has an
off-hand way of disposing of his enemies by turning them into
apple-trees, or dumb beasts of one kind or another, and upon retiring
to my room I sat down and waited in great dread of what should happen
next. I couldn't really believe that the Major Domo's statement as to
my having been forgiven was possible. It predicated too great a
magnanimity to be credible.

"I hope to gracious he won't make a pine-tree of me," I groaned,
visions of a future in which woodmen armed with axes, and sawmills,
played a conspicuous part, rising up before me. "I'd hate like time to
be sawed up into planks and turned into a Georgia pine floor
somewhere."

It was a painful line of thought and I strove to get away from it, but
without success, although the variations were interesting when I
thought of all the things I might be made into, such as kitchen
tables, imitation oak bookcases, or perhaps--horror of horrors--a
bundle of toothpicks! I was growing frantic with fear, when on a
sudden my reveries of dread were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"It has come at last!" I said, and I opened the door, nerving myself
up to sustain the blow which I believed was impending. Mercury stood
without, flapping the wings that sprouted from his ankles impatiently.

"The skitomobile is ready, sir," he said.

I gazed at him earnestly.

"The what?"

"The skitomobile, to take you to the links. Jupiter has already gone
on ahead, and he has commanded me to follow, bringing you along with
me."

"Oh--I'm to go to the links, eh? What's he going to do with me when he
gets me there? Turn me into a golf-ball and drive me off into space?"
I inquired.

My heart sank at the very idea, but I was immediately reassured by
Mercury's hearty laugh.

"Of course not--why should he? He's going to play you an
eighteen-hole match. You've made a great impression on the old
gentleman."

"Thank Heaven!" I said. "I'll hurry along and join him before he
changes his mind."

In a brief while I was ready, and, escorted by Mercury, I was taken to
the skitomobile which stood at the exit from the hall to the outer
roadway nearest my room. Seated in front of this, and acting as
chauffeur, was a young man whom I recognized at once as Phaeton.
Alongside of him sat Jason, polishing up the most beautiful set of
golf-clubs I ever saw. The irons were of wrought gold, and the shafts
of the most highly polished and exquisite woods.

"To the links," said Mercury, and with a sudden chug-chug, and a jerk
which nearly threw me out of the conveyance, we were off. And what a
ride it was! At first the sensation was that of falling, and I
clutched nervously at the sides of the skitomobile, but by slow
degrees I got used to it, and enjoyed one of the most exhilarating
hours that has ever entered into my experience.

Planet after planet was passed as we sped on and on upward, and as my
delight grew I gave utterance to it.

"Jove! But this is fine!" I said. "I never knew anything like it,
except looping the loop."

Phaeton grinned broadly and winked at Jason.

"How would you like to loop the loop out here?" the latter asked.

"What? In a machine like this?" I cried.

"Certainly," said Jason. "It's great sport. Give him the twist,
Phaeton."

I began to grow anxious again, for I recalled the past careless
methods of Phaeton, and I had no wish to go looping the loop through
the empyrean with one of his known adventurous disposition, to be
hurled unceremoniously sooner or later perhaps into the sun itself.

"Perhaps we'd better leave it until some other day," I ventured,
timidly.

"No time like the present," Jason retorted. "Only hang on to yourself.
All ready, Phaety!"

The chauffeur grasped the lever, and, turning it swiftly to one side,
there in the blue vault of heaven, a thousand miles from anywhere,
that machine began executing the most remarkable flip-flaps the mind
of man ever conceived. Not once or twice, but a hundred times did we
go whirling round and round through the skies, until finally I got so
that I could not tell if I were right side up or upside down. It was
great sport, however, and but for the fact that on the third trial I
lost my grip and would have fallen head over heels through space had
not Mercury, who was flying alongside of the machine, swooped down and
caught me by the leg as I fell out, I found it as exhilarating as it
was novel. I could have kept it up forever, had we not shortly hove in
sight of the links, which, as I have already told you, were located on
the planet Mars; and such gorgeousness as I there encountered was
unparalleled on earth. Much that we earth-folk have wondered at became
clear at once. The great canals, as we call them, for instance, turned
out to be vast sand-bunkers that glistened like broad rivers of silver
in the wondrous sheen of the planet, while the dark greenish spots,
concerning which our astronomers have speculated so variously, were
nothing more nor less than putting-greens. It is extraordinary that
until my visit to the planet as the guest of Jupiter, this perfectly
simple solution of the various Martian problems was not even guessed.

As we drew up at the pretty little club-house, Jupiter emerged from
the door and greeted me cordially. My eyes fell before his smiling
gaze, for I must confess I was mighty shamefaced over my experience of
the morning, but his manner restored my self-possession. It was very
genial and forgiving.

"Glad to see you again," he said. "If you play golf as well as you do
synonyms you're a scratch man. You didn't foozle a syllable."

"I should have, had I known as much as I do now," said I.

"Well, I'm glad you didn't know," Jupiter returned majestically, "for
I can use that word stult in my business. Now suppose we have a bit of
luncheon and then start out."

After eating sparingly we began our game. I was provided with a caddie
that looked like one of Raphael's angels, and Jupiter himself handed
me a driver from his own bag.

"You'll have to be careful how you use it," he said; "it has
properties which may astonish you."

I teed up my ball, swung back, and then with all the vigor at my
command whacked the ball square and true. It sprang from the tee like
a bird let loose and flew beyond my vision, and while I was trying
with my eye to keep up with it in its flight, I received a stinging
blow on the back of my head which felled me to the ground.

"Thunderation!" I roared. "What was that?"

Jupiter laughed. "It was your own ball," he said. "You put too much
muscle into that stroke, and, as a consequence, the ball flew all the
way round the planet and clipped you from behind."

"You don't mean to say--" I began.

"Yes, I do," said Jupiter. "That is a special long-distance driver
made for me. Only had it two days. It is not easy to use, because it
has such wonderful force. Hercules drove a ball three times around the
planet at one stroke with it yesterday. To use it properly requires
judgment. Up here you have to play golf with your head, as well as
with your clubs."

"Well, I played it with mine all right," I put in, rubbing the lump on
the back of my head ruefully. "Shall I play two?"

"Certainly," said Jupiter. "You've a good brassey lie behind the tee
there. Play gently now, for this hole isn't more than three hundred
miles long."

My brassey stroke is one of my best, and I did myself proud. The ball
flew about one hundred and seventy-nine miles in a straight line, but
landed in a sand-bunker. Jupiter followed with a good clean drive for
two hundred miles, breaking all the records previously stated to me by
Adonis, whereupon we entered the skitomobile and were promptly
transported to the edge of the bunker, where my ball reposed upon the
glistening sand. It took three to get out, owing to the height of the
cop, which rose a trifle higher in the air than Mount Blanc, but the
niblick Jason had brought along for my use, as soon as I got used to
the titanic quality of the game I was playing, was finally equal to
the loft. My ball landed just short of the green, one hundred and
sixteen miles away. Jupiter foozled his approach, and we both reached
the edge of the green in four.

"Bully distance for a putt," said Jupiter, taking the line from his
ball to the hole.

"About how far is it?" I asked, for I couldn't see anything
resembling a hole within a mile of me.

"Oh, five miles, I imagine," was the answer. "Put on these glasses and
you'll see the disk."

My courteous host handed me a pair of spectacles which I put upon my
nose, and there, seemingly two inches away, but in reality five and a
quarter miles, was the hole. The glasses were a revelation, but I had
seen too much that was wonderful to express surprise.

"Dead easy," I said, referring to the putt, now that I had the glasses
on.

"Looks so," said Jupiter, "but be careful. You can't hope to putt
until you know your ball."

At the moment I did not understand, but a minute after I had a shock.
Putting perfectly straight, the ball rolled easily along and then made
a slight hitch backward, as if I had put a cut on it, and struck off
ahead, straight as an arrow but to the left of the disk. This it
continued to do in its course, zigzagging more and more out of the
straight line until it finally stopped, quite two and a half miles
from the cup.

"Now watch me," said Jupiter. "You'll get an idea of how the ball
works."

I obeyed, and was surprised to see him aim at a point at least a mile
aside of the mark, but the results were perfect, for the gutty, acting
precisely as mine did, zigzagged along until it reached the rim of the
cup and then dropped gently in.

"One up," said Jupiter, with a broad smile as he watched my
ill-repressed wonderment.

As we were transported to the next tee by Phaeton and his machine, I
looked at my ball, and the peculiarity of its make became clear at
once. It was called "The Vulcan," and in action had precisely the
same movement as that of a thunder-bolt--thus:

"Great ball, eh?" said Jupiter. "Adds a lot to the science of the
game. A straight putt is easy, but the zigzag is no child's play."

"I think I shall like it," I said, "if I ever get used to it."

The second hole reached, I was astonished to see a huge apparatus like
a cannon on the tee, and in fact that is what it turned out to be.

"We call this the Cannon Hole," said Jupiter. "It lends variety to the
game. It's a splendid test of your accuracy, and if you don't make it
in one you lose it. If you will put on those glasses you will see the
hole, which is in the middle of a target. You've got to go through it
at one stroke."

"That isn't golf, is it?" I asked. "It's marksmanship."

"I call it so," said Jupiter, calmly. "And what I say goes. Moreover,
it requires much skill to offset the effect of the wind."

"But there is none," said I.

"There will be," said Jupiter, putting his ball in the cannon's breach
and making ready to drive. "You see those huge steel affairs on either
side of the course, that look like the ventilators on an ocean
steamer?"

"Yes," said I, for as I looked I perceived that this part of the
course was studded with them.

"Well, they supply the wind," said Jupiter. "I just ring a bell and
Æolus sets his bellows going, and I tell you the winds you get are
cyclonic, and, best of all, they blow in all directions. From the
first ventilator the wind is northeast by south; from the second it
is southwest by north-northeast; from the third it is straight north,
and so on. Winds are blowing at the moment of play from all possible
points of the compass. Fore!"

A bell rang, and never in a wide experience in noises had I ever
before heard such a fearful din as followed. A hurricane sprang from
one point, a gale from another, a cyclone from a third--such an æolian
purgatory was never let loose in my sight before, but Jupiter, gauging
each and all, fired his ball from the cannon, and it sped on, buffeted
here and there, now up, now down, like a bit of fluff in the chance
zephyrs of the spring-tide, but ultimately passing through the hole in
the target, and landing gently in a basket immediately behind the
bull's-eye. The winds immediately died down, and all was quiet again.

"Perfectly great!" I said, with enthusiasm, for it did seem
marvellous. "But I don't think I can do it. You win, of course."

"Not at all," said Jupiter. "If you hit the bull's-eye, as I did, you
win."

"And you lose in spite of that splendid--er--stroke?" I asked.

"Oh no--not at all," said Jupiter. "We both win."

Again the bell rang, and the winds blew, and the cannon shot, but my
ball, under the excitement of the moment of aiming, was directed not
towards the bull's-eye--or the hole--but at the skitomobile. It hit it
fairly and hard, and it smashed the engine by which the machine was
propelled, much to the consternation of Jason and Phaeton.

"Unfortunate," said Jupiter. "Very. But never mind. We don't have to
walk home."

"I'm awfully sorry," said I. "I--er--"

"Never mind," said Jupiter. "It is easily repaired, but we cannot go
on with the game. The next hole is eight thousand miles long. Twice
around the planet, and we couldn't possibly walk it, so we'll have to
quit. We've got all we can manage trudging back to the club-house.
Here, caddies, take our clubs back to the club-house, and tell 'em to
have two nectar high-balls ready at six-thirty. Phaeton, you and Jason
will have to get back the best way you can. I've told you a half-dozen
times to bring two machines with you, but you never seem to
understand. Come along, Higgins, we'll go back. Shut your eyes."

I closed my optics, as ordered, although my name is not Higgins, and I
didn't like to have even Jupiter so dub me.

"Now open them again," was the sharp order.

I did so, and lo and behold! by some supernatural power we had been
transported back to the club-house.

"I am sorry, Jupiter," said I "to have spoiled your game," as we sat,
later, sipping that delicious concoction, the nectar high-ball, which
we supplemented with a "Pegasus's neck."

"Nonsense," said he, grandly. "You haven't spoiled my _game_. You have
merely, without meaning to do so, spoiled your own afternoon. My game
is all right and will remain so. It would have been a great pleasure
to me to show you the other sixteen holes, but circumstances were
against us. Take your nectar and let us trot along. You dine with Juno
and myself to-night. Let's see, I was two up, wasn't I?"

"Two up, and sixteen to play."

"Then I win," said he. It was an extraordinary score, but then it was
an extraordinary occasion.

And we entered his chariot, and were whirled back to Olympus. The ride
home was not as exciting as the ride out, but it was interesting. It
lasted about a half of a millionth of a second, and for the first time
in my life I knew how a telegram feels when it travels from New York
to San Francisco, and gets there apparently three hours before it is
sent by the clock.

XII

I am Dismissed

It was a very interesting programme for my further entertainment that
Jupiter mapped out on our way back from the links, and I deeply regret
that an untoward incident that followed later, for which I was
unintentionally responsible, prevented its being carried out. I was to
have been taken off on a cruise on the inland sea, to where the lost
island of Atlantis was to be found; a special tournament at ping-pong
was to be held in my honor, in which minor planets were to be used
instead of balls, and the players were to be drawn from among the
Titans, who were retained to perform feats of valor, skill, and
strength for Jupiter. The forge of Vulcan was to be visited, and many
of the mysteries of the centre of the earth were to be revealed, and,
best of all, Jupiter himself had promised to give me an exhibition of
his own skill as a marksman in the hurling of thunder-bolts, and _I
was to select the objects to be hit!_ Think of it! What a chance lay
here for a man to be rid of certain things on earth that he did not
like! What a vast amount of ugly American architecture one could be
rid of in the twinkling of an eye! What a lot of enemies and eyesores
it was now in my power to have removed by an electrical process
availed of in the guise of sport! I spent an hour on that list of
targets, and if only I had been allowed to prolong my stay in the home
of the gods, the world itself would have benefited, for I was not
altogether personal in my selection of things for Jupiter to aim at.
There was Tammany Hall, for instance, and the Boxers of China--these
led my list. There were four or five sunlight-destroying, sky-scraping
office buildings in New York and elsewhere; nuisances of every kind
that I could think of were put down--the headquarters of the Beef
Trust and a few of its sponsors; the editorial offices of the peevish
and bilious newspapers, which deny principles and right motives to all
save themselves; a regiment of alleged humorists who make jokes about
the mother-in-law and other sacred relations of life; an opera-box
full of the people who hum every number of Wagner and Verdi through,
and keep other people from hearing the singers; row after row of
theatre-goers who come in late and trample over the virtuous folk who
have arrived punctually; any number of theatrical managers who mistake
gloom for amusement; three or four smirking matinée idols, whose
talents are measured by the fit of their clothes, the length of their
hair, and their ability to spit supernumeraries with a tin sword;
cab-drivers who had overcharged me; insolent railway officials; the
New York Central Tunnel--indeed, the completed list stretches on to
such proportions that it would require more pages than this book
contains to present them in detail. I even thought of including
Hippopopolis in the list, but when I realized that it was entirely
owing to his villany that I had enjoyed the delightful privilege of
visiting the gods in their own abode, I spared him. And to think that
because of an unintentional error this great opportunity to rid the
world, and incidentally myself, of much that is vexatious was wholly
lost is a matter of sincere grief to myself.

It happened in this way: Hardly had I returned to my delightful
apartment at the hotel, when a messenger arrived bearing a superbly
engraved command from Jupiter to dine with himself and Juno _en
famille_. It was a kind, courteous, and friendly note, utterly devoid
of formality, and we were to spend the evening at cards. Jupiter had
indicated in the afternoon that he would like to learn bridge, and,
inasmuch as I never travel anywhere without a text-book upon that
fascinating subject, I had volunteered to teach him. The dinner was
given largely to enable me to do this, and, moreover, Jupiter was
quite anxious to have me meet his family, and promised me that before
the evening was over I should hear some music from the lyre of Apollo,
meet all the muses, and enjoy a chafing-dish snack prepared by the
fair hand of Juno herself.

"I'll have Polyphemus up to give us a few coon songs if you like
them," he added, "and altogether I can promise you a delightful
evening. We drop all our state at these affairs, and I know you'll
enjoy yourself."

"I shall feel a trifle embarrassed in the presence of so many gods and
goddesses, I am afraid," I put in.

"I'll fix you out as to that," Jupiter replied. "I'll change you for
the time being into a god yourself, if you wish."

I laughed at the idea.

"A high old god I'd make," said I.

"You'd pass," he observed, quietly. "I'll call you Pencillius, god of
Chirography--or would you rather come as Nonsensius, the newly
discovered deity of Jocosity?"

"I think I'd rather be Zero, god of Nit," said I, and it was so
ordained.

Of course, I accepted the invitation and was on hand at the palace,
as I thought, promptly. As a matter of fact, my watch having in some
mysterious fashion been affected by the excitement of the adventure,
got galloping away just as my own heart had done more than once. The
result was that, instead of arriving at the palace at eight o'clock,
as I was expected to do, I got there at seven. Of course, my exalted
hosts were not ready to receive me, and there were no other guests to
bear me company and keep me out of mischief in the drawing-room, where
for an hour I was compelled to wait. At first all went well. I found
much entertainment in the room, and on the centre-table, a beautiful
bit of furniture, carved out of one huge amethyst, I discovered a
number of books and magazines, which kept me tolerably busy for a
half-hour. There was a finely bound copy of _Don'ts for the Gods, or
Celestial Etiquette_, in which I found many valuable hints on the
procedure of Olympian society--notably one injunction as to the use of
finger-bowls, from which I learned that the gods in their lavishness
have a bowl for each finger; and a little volume by Bacchus on
_Intemperance_, which I wish I might publish for the benefit of my
fellow-mortals. All I remember about it at the moment of writing is
that the author seriously enjoins upon his readers the wickedness of
drinking more than sixty cocktails a day, and utterly deprecates the
habit of certain Englishmen of drinking seven bottles of port at a
sitting. Bacchus seemed to think that, with the other wines incidental
to a dinner, no one, not even an Englishman, should attempt to absorb
more than five bottles of port over his coffee. It struck me as being
rather good advice.

Wearying of the reading at the end of a half-hour, I began a closer
inspection of the room and its contents. It was full of novelties,
and, naturally, gorgeous past all description; but what most excited
my curiosity was a small cabinet, not unlike a stereoscope in shape,
which stood in one corner of the room. It had a button at one side,
over which was a gilt tablet marked "Push." On its front was the
legend, "Drop a Nickel in the Slot, Push the Button, and See the
Future." I followed the instructions eagerly. The nickel was dropped,
the button pushed, and, putting my eyes before the lenses, I gazed
into the remotest days to come. I had come across the Futuroscope,
otherwise a kinetoscope with the gift of prophecy. The coming year
passed rapidly, and I saw what fate had in store for the world for the
twelve months immediately ahead of me; then followed a decade, then a
century, and then others, until, just as I was approaching the dread
cataclysm which is to mark the end of all mortal things, I heard a
quick, startled voice back of me.

It was that of Jupiter, and his tone was a strange mixture of wrath
and regret.

"What on earth have you done?" he cried.

"Nothing, your Majesty," said I, shaking all over as with the ague at
the revelations I had just witnessed, "except getting a bird's-eye
view of what is to come."

"I am sorry," said he, gravely. "It is not well that mortals should
know the future, and your imprudent act is destructive of all the
plans I have had for you. You must leave us instantly, for that
instrument is for the gods alone. Moreover, the knowledge of that
which you have seen--"

Here his voice positively thundered, and the frown that came upon his
brow filled me with awe and terror.

"All knowledge of what you have seen must be removed from your brain,"
he added, grimly.

I was speechless with fear as the ruler of Olympus touched an electric
button at the side of the room, and the two huge slaves, Gog and
Magog, appeared.

"Seize him!" Jupiter commanded, sternly.

In an instant I was bound hand and foot.

"To the office of Dr. Æsculapius!" he commanded, and I was
unceremoniously removed to the room wherein I had had my interview
with the great doctor, where I was immediately etherized and my brain
operated upon. Precisely what was done to me I shall probably never
know, but what I do know is that from that time to this all that I
saw in that marvellous Futuroscope is a blank, although on all other
subjects pertaining to my visit to the gods my recollection is
perfectly clear. It suffices to say that I lay for a long time in a
stupor, and when finally I came to my senses again I found myself
comfortably ensconced in my own bed, in my own home; not in Greece,
but in America; suffering from a dull headache from which I did not
escape for at least three hours. Again and again and again have I
tried to recall that wonderful picture of a marvellous future seen by
my mortal eyes that night upon Olympus, that I might set it upon paper
for others to read, but with each effort the dreadful pain in the top
of my head returns and I find myself compelled to abandon the project.

So was my brief visit to Olympus begun and ended. In its results it
has perhaps been neither elevating nor remarkably instructive, but it
has given me a better understanding of, and a better liking for, that
great company of mythological beings who used to preside over the
destinies of the Greeks. They appeared more human than godlike to my
eyes. They were companionable to a degree, and for a time, at least,
would prove congenial associates for a summer outing, but as a steady
diet--well, I am not at all surprised that, as men waxed more mature
in years and in experience, these titanic members of the Olympian four
hundred lost their power and became no greater factor in the life of
the large society of mankind than any other group of people, equal in
number and of seeming importance, whose days and nights are given over
solely to pleasure and the morbid pursuit of notoriety.

THE END

Transcriber's Note: The author refers to a type of golf club
as a "brassey" and also as a "brassie". Both spellings have
been maintained in this document.