Title: The Centaurians - a novel
Author: Biagi, L. D.
Language: English
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                                 _The_
                              CENTAURIANS
                                A NOVEL


                                   BY
                                 BIAGI

[Illustration]

                        BROADWAY PUBLISHING CO.
                        _835 Broadway, New York_
 BRANCH OFFICES: CHICAGO, WASHINGTON, BALTIMORE, ATLANTA, NORFOLK, DES
                              MOINES, IOWA



                            COPYRIGHT, 1911,
                                   BY
                              L. D. BIAGI.



                                CONTENTS


                            CHAPTER               PAGE
                                  I                  3
                                 II                 23
                                III                 31
                                 IV                 39
                                  V                 51
                                 VI                 63
                                VII                 77
                               VIII                 90
                                 IX                105
                                  X                122
                                 XI                153
                                XII                182
                               XIII                210
                                XIV                225
                                 XV                238
                                XVI                253
                               XVII                262
                              XVIII                273
                                XIX                297
                                 XX                316
                                XXI                323



                           “The Centaurians.”



                               CHAPTER I.


Twelve long years of European travel had failed to stale the beauties of
my own country. I compared the exquisite, restful view, to the garish
expansiveness of foreign panorama. Though fagged and frayed with
experience it was a tingling delight to gaze once again upon this fair,
smiling, home country, whose mountain-lined distance of vivid heliotrope
formed superb contrast to waving fields of deep yellow corn.

I flung aside the book I was reading with its repellant thoughts; the
dewy freshness of a bright July morning weaned me from poppy-drugged
ideas. I faltered at the grand finale of this wonderful collection of
moods and wandered out in the glorious sunshine and fields beyond. Upon
a huge mound of hay I lolled, enjoying the delicate fragrance of roses
mingled with the heavy, pungent scent of carnations, and lazily watched
blue butterflies flitting above, while black field reptiles ventured
close, wondering what species I might be, then vanishing at the least
movement. The hum of insects seemingly swelled to the city’s roar; all
nature was active with industry, I alone was the drone, though master of
this rural, enchanting, warm, lazy scene, which, like a veil, spread
over the vast area of my possessions.

Powerfully wealthy, I gloat in enjoyment and exist merely to squander
the fabulous riches inherited from ancestors who worshipped at the
shrine of Accumulation, that I, the culminating period, should revel in
Profligacy. Value has no significance and to me there is naught under
the blue heavens that is priceless, except perhaps—a new experience. I
came from a queer clan, we could date our premier back to the twelfth
century; a Florentine dealer in precious stones, whose interesting
history filled one of the documents handed to me when I reached the age
of supposed discretion. Originality was our motto. All were gifted with
keenness and enterprise, though dotted periodically with mania—just a
dash, you understand, to aid personality and create distinction. Avarice
was strongly developed, dulling fear forcing us to brave many perils,
and we scorned the warning contained in the great chest of documents
which even I failed to unseal. We had survived many disasters and twice
narrowly escaped oblivion. We possessed a doubtful legend and closely
guarded a buried tomb of foulness, yet with all our cunning two fools
nearly snuffed the name out of existence during the fifteenth, and again
at the close of the seventeenth century.

My thoughts often dwelt upon these afflicted kinsmen; both had been mad,
of course, their chameleon brains merely reflected the brilliant glints
of their rare collection of gems. One coveted the green light flaring in
the crown of Isis, and early mastered the knowledge that all men perfect
when they are too old to profit by it—anticipation is the nectar of
realization. He was radiant in longing for the mystic green he could
never possess, and existed in a daring dreamland that all men desire but
never contemplate. His marvelous collection of emeralds formed the
foundation of our almost fabulous wealth. It was a similar malady that
afflicted the later kinsman, who closed his career with a rabidness that
slanted a muddy shade consuming centuries of gigantic endeavor to clear.
His madness lacked reverence, but keenness, determination proved talent
had he not been abnormal. He conceived a frenzied desire to possess a
famous jewel with a rich setting of superstition and priceless value.
The cutting fascinated him, he jeered at warnings and made offers of
purchase with a persistency equal his mania; when realizing the wealth
of the world contained not the value of the stone he called it fate and
stole the gem. Years later he was found murdered, horribly mutilated.
Aware of the fate destined for him, he reasoned a life forfeited justly
covered all debts—the stone was our property. He feared to trust it out
of his keeping, however, and when the final, awful moment arrived, his
insane cunning outwitted the assassins—he swallowed the stone. I have it
sunk in a broad band of gold.

After the exploit of this fanatic we scattered over the world, and
though our name suffered torturing abbreviation, we were easily traced
by our wealth. Luck followed us in all undertakings, riches accumulated,
but doubting the truth of the superstition surrounding the stone it is
indisputable that from the date it entered our possession love departed.
We were known as a cold, calculating, heartless people, with the
doubtful intellect usually accompanying wealth. We purchased affection
as we would any saleable bauble, and lived the life of indifference and
final dislike the purchased article always brings. The curse was a
short, loveless existence, crowned with intangible longings.

                  *       *       *       *       *

I recollect very little of my parents, both having passed away during my
infancy, but I am liberally supplied with relatives who are disagreeably
vivid, treacherous, small, scheming, gifted with a keen eye for
profit—just relatives.

It was a kind providence, chiefly law, that placed me under the
protection of Middleton & Co., a trio of the ablest and shrewdest of
lawyers. They sent me to college, where I passed some years, though
really it was not necessary. The intellect of a millionaire is generally
accredited heavy with metal, though when backed with distinction, a most
desirable bric-a-brac. I early discovered nothing was expected of me
except good-nature and generosity. The commonest attributes were denied
me, and though of a sunny temperament, eventually I grew bitter,
scorning the mercenary. To be constantly striving to force a measure
above companionable appendage was a cruel trial. However, my college
life was not so difficult when I crushed the romantic nobility of youth.
I became resigned to my value and easily tolerated the adulation my
wealth inspired. I was extravagantly generous and considered a rare good
fellow, who gave rare good times. Occasionally I indulged in spasms of
ambition, and when controlled by this feverish sensation, vowed to
out-class the associates who imposed upon me. I had a vague idea of
Fame, Worth gained through merit, not purchased. These attacks
invariably visited me after an evening passed with Professor Saxlehner,
the only individual in the wide world who understood me and honestly
believed in my possession of brains, and who pronounced my name always
with full entirety—Virgillius Salucci. Saxlehner was a man of brilliant
mind, quiet, simple, seeking solitude and delving deep in all manner of
mysteries.

My gold carried little weight with him, he was sincerely fond of me and
consequently rated me soundly for all indiscretions, declaring I would
regret wasting the best years of my life and deadening my vast
talents—though he failed to state in what particular line my genius lay,
I believed him. Frequently I sought him, weary and in need of sympathy,
but he regularly refrained giving any, telling me I was simply suffering
the dissatisfaction of inferior association and he could not understand
my persistence in such a course. He begged me to cultivate seriousness
and avoid flattering clowns, frivolity was altogether out of my line, I
was born for greater, higher things.

Young and fond of pleasure, I ignored most of his advice, yet his words
vividly impressed me, and in after years, profiting by his counsel, I
became known as a man of many ideas, a trifle eccentric, and notoriously
willing to fling away a fortune for a new experience. Saxlehner and I
became great friends, yet with the ending of my college days we drifted
apart. I plunged into the social gayety that awaits all rich young men,
and learned more in one month of idleness than in all the years passed
at college. I became wild, fast, yet deceived all with assumed
unsophisticatedness and was a great trial to Middleton & Co., who kept a
sharp lookout for squalls, remonstrating and warning me of disasters
they could not steer me out of. Maliciously I parried with them, while
debauchery fostered ennui and the dormant characteristics of my people
roused to activity impregnating my system with the pessimist’s germ.
Much encountered subtlety and unscrupulousness ceased causing anxiety. I
developed an impenetrable armor of caution and sought diversion in
heartless analysis—the world is money-mad. Lovelessness, the curse of my
people, was upon me. It caused no unhappiness, we had all lived through
it, but I alone discovered and realized—it developed with mature reason,
we were not born with it. Vaguely I dreamed of congeniality and calm
affection but craved neither, and anything deeper seemed annoying. I was
incapable of passion, consequently could not inspire it. Iron against
all sensations, my callousness astounded even me. I scorned the
temptations other men embraced. Contact with the world robbed me of all
romance. I lived my life in a few months. In demeanor I was simplicity
itself, jovial, gullible as ever, but where formerly I sought enjoyment
I was now indifferent, content to bask in the supreme delight of proving
my convictions correct. I never committed an error. Disinterestedness,
gratitude, are chimeras. Through my reduced expenses Middleton & Co.
figured, and honestly believed the gradual change meant matrimony; in no
other way could they comprehend my sudden respectability. Middleton
harped continually on the subject, Rollins made it the topic of
conversation every time I visited his home, and Burke smiled
suggestively, but refrained from remarks—he was not the orator of the
firm.

As daughters did not ornament any of the three homes I became partially
convinced of my duty, and following Middleton’s advice began a series of
inspection of my numerous cousins.

With the kind assistance of Rollins’s wife (who believed herself too
young for Rollins, but wasn’t), I finally selected a tall, thin young
woman, with rolling blue eyes, red cheeks, and rather pretty brown hair.
Accustomed to quasi-fresh-wilted buds, I was attracted to the youth and
apparent innocence of the girl. She was Carolyn, nineteen, with old age
upon her at twenty-five. She was languid, insipid, and possessed the
stereotyped conversation of nearly all girls of her age, who arrange
their hair and dress all alike. She sang two songs in Italian, without
knowing anything about it, and worried through four instrumental solos
with murderous skill; also, she painted some, but Mamma gave it great
importance and became a nuisance in her persistence that all should
inspect the awful attempts, which were merely daubs even after the
teacher had “gone over them.” This was the extent of Carolyn’s
accomplishments, which opened preliminaries every time I ventured near
her, and wise people versed in prediction aided by Mamma, had us married
early in the skirmish. But Mamma was difficult, Carolyn impossible, and
both possessed an omnivorous appetite for courtesy. Like
boa-constrictors, they swallowed and swallowed and were always famished;
and suddenly an unaccountable chill came upon me and I discovered the
right was mine to live my own life. I could see no reason why I should
burden myself with this great nonentity, this Carolyn, for the sole
purpose of permitting her to inherit my wealth when she became my widow.
It was an unnaturally cold conclusion and Middleton’s pointedness became
annoying. I advised him to get the matrimonial “bug” out of his head and
quit bothering me. I did not regret Carolyn, but the affair was rather
unfortunate, and she was young to be afflicted with the disappointment
that all girls find so bitter and take so hard. Actuated by profound
selfishness I renounced every inclination toward matrimony; martyr-like
I vowed the lasciviousness of my race would end with me. I would live to
squander this vast wealth and lead the ideal existence the poor imagine
the wealthy enjoy. Possibly I would experience happiness, but in a
superficial way, the intense I abhorred. Middleton & Co. were
dumbfounded at my strange behavior, their consternation was rather
interesting because unnecessary, but eventually the three kindly
gentlemen greatly bored me, and to oust all unpleasant association I
stated my long-contemplated intention of touring the world. No
objections were offered. I was to send news regularly of my doings and
the firm was to be notified at once should anything unusual occur.

Loaded with directions and accompanied by a trio of gay, young friends,
I started out for adventure. Scarcely had we reached the old world, when
I decided to get rid of my traveling companions. They were nice, jolly
boys, restless for diversion and amusing because of their eternal
appreciation of enjoyment, but I desired freedom, wishing to discover
and cultivate any talents I might be gifted with, and to me it was
unlimited opportunity, being in a strange land, surrounded by strangers.
My three friends early discovered their pursuits were not mine; we
parted without any ill-feeling. Then I proceeded to waste my time in a
thousand ways, never accomplishing anything, yet perfectly sincere all
the time, child-like in my own ambition, horribly cynical regarding
others. I became known, of course, as a man of vast ideas, lacking the
concentration that promotes success. I was constantly inspired with
thoughts that rarely visit other people, but I kept my own counsel and
encouraged the inventive ideas that assailed me. Eventually various
learned people heard of me and my positive convictions and extended much
courtesy while guiding me through all the intricate labyrinths that ever
created stupefaction. Greatly encouraged and as happy as I ever expected
to be, I became absorbed in that which three-fourths of the world are
ever seeking and which the other fourth cannot comprehend—Fame.

Not hampered with advice from individuals who fancied themselves
superior mortals, I entered upon heavy duties, much disappointment—which
failed to affect me as I brought it upon myself—and many, many years of
waste and vast expense. At one time I believed myself destined to become
a famous inventor, but after repeated failures I realized the utter
impossibility of my productions. However, I was encouraged to continue
my “experiments,” being considered very promising, and it was the
popular impression that in the general confusion I might hit upon
something entirely original. I was energetic and deserved to. My
inclinations were for work. I believed entirely in myself and continued
ambitious till suddenly I developed a pet theory which came upon me
unawares, yet took entire possession of my thoughts. For some time I
worried along under this compelling influence, then suddenly, without
regret, thrust aside inventive ambitions and with my usual determination
to succeed entered a college of medicine. Undaunted by the years of
study before me I grasped hopefully all problems labelled hazardous and
avoided by others, and became an enthusiast when I discovered my theory
a fact undreamed of. It was daring, yet I never faltered delving deep in
the science that would create universal benefit, convince the skeptical,
and perfect success. Finally came the day when knowledge forced me to
propound my theory to the medical fraternity. An opportunity to
demonstrate was all I asked. I was listened to and not exactly laughed
at—that was the impression I made upon the learned gentlemen. All
admired the suggestion, yet would give no encouragement. Frankly it was
hinted that I was seeking fame, notoriety, not the advancement of
science, yet the theory was feasible, though crude, a lifetime problem,
and—no one dared back me. Through all unfavorable criticism I retained
my enthusiasm and sought opportunity. My startling theory received
world-wide attention and I lectured all over Europe. When the
opportunity presented itself I demonstrated my theory and—failed. The
subject was the victim of a shocking accident and could not have lived.
I prolonged his life five months. During that time he became the picture
of health and progressed rapidly up to a certain degree, then science
utterly failed to benefit. He never regained strength, was unable to
walk, and if permitted to stand alone sank like pulp to the floor. The
case interested and puzzled the whole medical clientele, the end was
unexpected and astonishing.

“Your theory is nil, unnatural,” I was informed. “Nothing living has the
power to survive the shock of test. The subject from the start is doomed
to inward decay—you kill the strength nerves,” and I had “grasped a
suggestion that only a master’s mind could complete.” Raw, immature, my
great theory might be, but it was neither unnatural or impracticable;
some bright, young student would master the science that I, through lack
of ability for application (?) failed to perfect. Beneath the sun there
is nothing new. The wonderful theory I dallied with had been in practice
centuries ago and with many other valuable sciences had through disuse
fallen out of existence.

The intellect of Time is degenerating with Earth. We grasp and marvel at
that at which the ancient giant intellects simply nodded approval.
Modernity is the reflection of miraculous originality of the early ages.

My career as a physician came abruptly to an end. I was wearied, and for
the benefit of science would sacrifice nothing. That which had animated
me now became an abomination. The profession of medicine had not scope
enough to bring contentment or make me realize the vast ambition of
pride. Vanity! vanity! vanity! I floated rudderless upon this cloudy
lake and plunged into the huge, sulky, black waves of Disappointment,
yet for an instant I gazed in the far distance—beautiful, enchanting,
where the sun of Fame gilded the enticing pool of Success.

From my gigantic blunder I had the courage to extricate myself,
renouncing the delights that absorb indolent others who declare the
world an illusion and life an exertion. I donated large sums to various
colleges to be expended in penetrating the mysterious science I failed
in, then for years wandered over the world, aimless, melancholy,
craving, ever searching the grand, supreme idea that I knew would reach
me before peace.

India, that great field of abundant superstition, mildly restored my
shattered energies. The occult science in its most malignant form
attacked me. I was enchanted with fanatical proverbs tantalizing in
their promise of what?—nothing.

I engaged a dwelling and furnished it up with barbaric splendor, then
watched the subtle operations of the strange people I surrounded myself
with. They possessed extraordinary imaginations and narrative powers,
and, because it was impossible, I developed a keen desire to experience
some of the delights these fanatics extolled.

Following instructions, I spent weeks in the mountains, inhaling dank
vapors and camped in the wilderness, fasting for days, reading a
book—for what purpose I never discovered—and ended it all as
unimaginative as ever. I tried my utmost to become convinced of the
supernatural, but never for an instant lost the knowledge I was an ass
to so ardently pursue Folly, in her mock seriousness. I became shamed
with the realization of the utter nonsense I permitted my intellect to
roam in and the wild-eyed fanatics with their shrieks and convulsions
and frenzied endeavors to convince, nauseated me when I discovered it
was all acting, mere acting, and they were less sincere than I.

The fanaticism, immorality, the full rein given to sensualism and vulgar
superstition disgusted me. Naught but undeveloped or diseased minds are
convinced of such farces—an obnoxious weight upon civilization. My cold,
calm, reasoning of the subject flashed clear, strong, like a vivid blaze
of light, I stood alone but powerfully in the right. My ideas were ahead
of my time, that was all. I suddenly ended my researches in the occult.

I became a worshipper of nature, and gloated in the sunset with its
rare, rich coloring; in rapture I gazed upon the ocean with its tracery,
lace-flecked waves and grand swell bursting in deep roar. I calmed my
vision with the azure vaults above gradually deepening to a purple
beyond imitation to be studded with billions and trillions of brilliant
twinkling lights, then at the white, mysterious globe, sailing
majestically alone; and finally at noontide, I worshipped the brazen,
hot splendor of the Sun, and asked what was more awe-inspiring or worthy
of devotion than this vast, beautiful Something, we call Nature. With
joy I realized I alone had solved the mystery all were struggling to
solve. Nature, divine, beautiful Nature, ruled the universe. Continually
before us is laid this grand example in its chaste regulations which
never offends, yet we the puny, tainted, little atoms, existing in this
wonderful purity, continually offend all laws of Nature. If we formed
our lives to compare with the vast splendor shining ever before us we
would be divine. Eternity, the germ of imagination, soars to wonderful
spheres, yet never reaches the sublime summit of the vast glory of the
universe. And I still searched for the one great inspiration I knew I
was destined for.

About this time I received urgent news from Middleton & Co. They
demanded my return and conveyed the impression it was a matter of
necessity, causing me to vaguely meditate upon the possibility if I had
really reached the end of my powerful fortune. This was laughable, but
Middleton & Co. had some strong reason—they always had strong reasons,
and had entirely upset the rather flimsy plans I had formed for the
future. I used some irritable language, though right down in my heart I
had a hankering to see the old boys again.

Leisurely I journeyed homeward and tremendously enjoyed the trip across
the ocean. The voyage was remarkably calm and I strode upon deck,
inhaling great quantities of fresh, vigorous, salt air, and giving a
passing glance at the class of people to whom I belonged, saw what is
seen always among the rich and idle. Well-dressed self-satisfaction,
without interest or idea beyond their own narrow little world;
fashionable, complacent boredom, a certain well-bred discontent,
idiotic, polite repartee, stifled yawns.... A kindly old gentleman
interested me considerably. We were together constantly and I learned he
had squandered three fortunes and enjoyed the superb satisfaction of
regretting it. He had a wife and mature family somewhere and delighted
in the thought that they had not the remotest idea of his whereabouts. I
knew very well who he was, but did not allude to it as he traveled
incognito and I feared to annoy him. He was an aristocrat—such men
usually are. Our acquaintance ended with the voyage, but as we parted he
gave me original, wholesome advice, which, like everything else, failed
to impress me, though I stored it safely away in my memory.

“My young friend,” he said, “you have traveled over a great portion of
the globe and encountered a vast assortment of people, and to your
astonishment discovered that good predominated. Everybody is good
according to their idea of goodness—ahem! Am I not right? You see, I’ve
studied you as you studied me. Salucci, cease to embitter your life with
false views of yourself and others, you’ve entered the wrong track
altogether; it is the man all admire, not the wealth which you permit to
kill ambition. Interest yourself in financial problems, the most
wonderful of all sciences. You’re a born financier. God in heaven! what
were the Fates up to that they bestowed upon you every faculty to amass
riches, then supplied you with the fortune! What puppets we are! Last
night you wished me luck, prosperity; and, Salucci, I wish you
happiness. Good-bye.”

I watched him hurrying away and almost fall into the arms of two dapper
young men who were waiting for him. They had recognized him as I did and
their object and interview. The old gentleman smiled genially upon them,
but his amazement was comical when they addressed him—he looked politely
embarrassed as though regretting he was not the party they were looking
for, then shrugged his graceful old shoulders and quietly departed; and
the two young men stared at each other, astounded that it was possible
they had been trapped into a case of mistaken identity. I was glad we
met, however, for he made an otherwise dull voyage extremely
interesting.

It was a cold, misty morning when the pompous custom-house officials
boarded the steamer. The fussy health officers were working themselves
into a fret because some one in the steerage had a cold, and the decks
were crowded with passengers, eager, expectant, prepared for departure.
Unconcernedly I scanned the dim outlines of the great city I called
home, and experienced not the slightest tremolo of excitement, though I
had been absent twelve years. What welcome had I to expect? Who cared
when I came or went? Affection was not for me, and I grew heavy with
longing, when, for the first time, I realized how much alone I was in
this world. I would never be conscious of anything above the familiar,
calculating coldness, sordid cordiality that was continually shown to me
and, reflecting bitterly, I knew precisely what awaited me when the
steamer docked. Albert would be there with the carriage and his
perpetual grin. My wealth prevented me even enjoying the little
annoyances fortunate others were subjected to. They could appreciate
comfort. I was uncomfortable always. At my residence there would be no
excitement, all in readiness as though I had never been absent. Later,
if not fatigued I would saunter to the club, there to meet men who, like
myself, had no place else to go. They would all hasten to reach my hand
and give it the hearty shake men always give to each other whether they
like you or not, and all would simultaneously exclaim: “Glad to see you
back, old man! Remain long? What’ll you have?”

I almost yelled with repugnance. Though usually I permitted gloom to
entirely envelop me, there was an undercurrent of consolation that few,
very few experience—I was able to gratify all whims and execute all
resolves, and generally when I reached this conclusion obnoxious
meditations evaporated.

I strolled among the chattering, enthused passengers, trying to absorb
some of their excitement; finding this difficult, I turned my full
attention upon a small, black object in the waters that absentmindedly I
had been watching some time. It was headed straight for the steamer and
the pert, little craft, battling in the choppy sea, amused me. As it got
nearer I discovered three men on the deck intently gazing at the steamer
and then—yes—no—Middleton’s launch—and the three of them! Middleton,
Burke, and Rollins! I yelled to them—by George! the firm had come to
welcome me home! I was not forgotten. They spied me, then all yelled,
wild with excitement. They extended their hands, so did I, as though it
was possible to shake at that distance. The launch finally ran alongside
the steamer, and three eager gentlemen boarded her. The bones in my
hands were nearly crushed, yet hardly were the greetings over when my
former gloomy thoughts rushed flood-like upon me. In vain I tried to
drown the painful doubts—pon my soul! I swear these gentlemen had no
motive but kindness in hurrying to greet me. Why couldn’t I be content
with the action? What happiness is there in continually searching the
motive? Middleton & Co. certainly had regard for me, else would have
remained in their comfortable offices such a cold, raw morning. Away
with this damned eternal probing, accept what is given, never expect
more; yet judging from universal bitter comments of injury, humanity is
firm in the belief, more is given than received. Smiling faces,
flattering tongues, affectionate attitudes are at least genuine in
exertion, why question further? It is enough to cement friendship.

If Middleton & Co. knew of my engaging thoughts while I was wringing
their hands they would at once send in a bill for all the advice given
gratis since my infancy. What a valuable nature is mine, and what
disfigurement is humanity to this gloriously beautiful world.

I remained a month in town, following implicitly the orders of Middleton
& Co. We’d had a thorough understanding plus details, and I learned my
twelve years abroad had made vast inroads upon my fortune, still I was
several centuries from starvation. I chided the old boys for their
needless anxiety—Middleton & Co. hung on to every cent they could grasp,
then felt injured. Dutifully I dined at each of their homes and gave a
return banquet to the club; also, I attended a few extraordinary
affairs—decorations, rows of debutantes—then suddenly discovered I
didn’t owe anybody anything anyhow, and quietly slipped down to my
country home that I had not visited in twelve years, and which made me
realize for the first time the wonderful pleasure of return. I was born
in this simple, rambling, old-fashioned house, surrounded with its acres
and acres of boundless wealth. I gloried in the all-pervading peace, the
enervating air vibrating with sounds, each a distinct note of music and
all blending in superb harmony. I strolled in the orchards, plucking
luscious fruit, I gathered my own salads and indulged in the juvenile
delight of hunting eggs. I rode with the men upon lofty hay wagons, and
lolled countless hours in the fields, dreamily viewing the far distant
valleys sloping gently upward into deep purple mountains, and in all my
travels of foreign antiquity flanked with oriental splendor I could
remember no land to compare with the grand, vast freshness of this
beautiful home scene, nor did I consider time wasted in this sublime
appreciation. It seemed the joyous, lazy hours passed in the hot
sunshine were simply the rest and peace needed to nerve me for coming
events that the supreme inspiration enveloped. The rural quietness did
not weary me. I indulged in day dreams and enthused in a thousand plans
to be banished as soon as formed, then one morning, as suddenly as I
came, I left all this sultry luxury and returned to the city.

With me in dreamland one entire night was Saxlehner, Professor
Saxlehner, whom I had not seen or heard of in twelve years. He had
appeared vivid, mirthful; we talked long, but with awakening I
remembered nothing, simply he had thrust himself upon my memory and I
returned to the city at once to search for him.



                              CHAPTER II.


Middleton & Co. were very hazy concerning Professor Saxlehner. Burke and
Rollins knew nothing, but Middleton informed me the Professor had
dropped all his old associates when he retired from the college and in
return everybody had forgotten him. He (Middleton) understood Saxlehner
was involved in some colossal scheme which he had “hung on to” all these
years, and so far his only recompense was in testing the delights of a
hermit. He lived way out somewhere in the suburbs in a little house of
his own, did his own cooking, and was very crabbed to outsiders.

“And why are you hunting up the man?” Middleton asked.

“I intend to remain some time on this side of the ocean,” I told him. “I
always liked Saxlehner, and simply wished to meet him again. He was the
only man who seemed to understand me and naturally we’re congenial.”

“No harm in looking up the Professor,” he said. “I always thought
Saxlehner a mighty shrewd fellow and his advice worth heeding. Hunt him
up, by all means; splendid idea.”

Then Middleton scowled fiercely while I roared. A slip of the tongue and
the word was sounded that he always avoided when I was within earshot.
Idea, idea, idea. Ah, for a brilliant one!

Middleton’s chagrin was amusing.

Several days later early one morning I and a pair of thoroughbreds
speeded toward the suburbs in search of my old friend Saxlehner. I
reined up in front of a little old cottage of one floor, cellar and
attic. The little front garden was overgrown with tall pink flowers and
huge yellow ones with broad green leaves. The gate hung upon one hinge
because it liked to, and had to be coaxed to open wide enough to admit
one. There was a narrow, graveled path leading up to an olive green
door, ornamented with a tarnished brass knocker in the form of a lion’s
head with a ring through its nose. And here in these parts so peaceful
and sunny, old Saxe. had buried himself with his colossal ideas.

I strode up to the olive door, and used the knocker several times with
noisy effect. My summons were certainly heard throughout the house and
several blocks beyond, but all remained calm, peaceful, no sign of a
living creature anywhere. I stepped out to examine the premises and
discovered smoke issuing from the chimney, so tried my luck again with a
series of startling knocks. I heard footsteps, quick, jerky, irritated
footsteps; bolts were snappishly drawn and the door opened violently;
there stood Saxe., red and angry, enveloped from head to foot in a huge
apron, sleeves rolled up, and armed with a fork.

“Well, young man,” he bawled, “might have known I didn’t want to be
bothered; what d’ye want?”

Same old Saxe., cross and lovable as ever. I took off my hat and stood
smiling at him. He scowled fiercely for a second, then gasped:

“Salucci! ’pon my soul! Why, it’s Salucci!”

He grabbed and drew me into the hall, gazing at me in astonishment,
chuckling softly. In a second we were wringing each other’s hands as
though for a wager.

“Never expected to see you again, my boy,” he told me; “thought you’d
forgotten old Saxe. completely. Stay awhile?”

“Might as well,” I answered.

“Good boy!” he laughed. “But, say, send away that wagon out there, the
whole neighborhood’ll think I’m sick and you the doctor.”

Saxe. really looked uneasy. I did as he wished, then he took me straight
to his little kitchen.

“Getting up dinner,” he explained. “The reason I’m still a man is
because I look after my digestion and live well.”

Upon a huge range were several small pots bubbling, and Saxe. went to
work like a veteran.

I attempted to account for myself during the twelve years’ absence, but
Saxe. cut me short.

“I know all about it,” he said, “kept track of you right along.
Regretted very much your sporty life, but when you deserted Folly you
cultivated Seriousness at the wrong end. You remained at nothing long
enough to make a success; you surrendered to failure right off, and the
sincere enthusiast never admits failure. You have wasted many valuable
years, but we’ll talk later of that. What I have in these poems will
improve with simmering. Come, I’ll show you about the place.”

He escorted me through the tiny hall to several rooms. There was a
sitting room, a cozy smoking room, a library, and three bed rooms. The
books in the library were piled high from floor to ceiling without
shelves or covering, and tumbled in every direction.

“Best way to keep books,” he explained, “too open for moths, and mildew
never attacks them. Then if you want a book you can lay hand on it at
once. I’m here when I’m not in the attic.”

We visited the cellar. Saxe. with pride showed me several brands of
fancy wine in casks and bottles, and there was a large variety of
imported liquors. Two cobwebbed bottles he took from the shelves,
remarking: “We’ll test them later,” and then he led the way to the
attic, a most remarkable room, comprising the length and width of the
house. It was packed with odd instruments, huge globes and vast maps of
the world cut the corners and lined the walls; there were telescopes,
and great charts of the heavens, and monstrous cylinders and electric
batteries, and tall, crystal columns, filled with fiery hued liquid; and
there was a queer steel contrivance resembling a table with the top cut
out, and suspended in the center was a huge, crystal globe, pierced by a
steel rod. The globe revolved upon this rod with wonderful rapidity.
Saxlehner vouchsafed no explanations. Another thing which roused my
curiosity was something of vast dimensions carefully covered with
canvas. Saxe. jealously guarded this treasure, whatever it was, and
skillfully turned my attention to other matters.

“And was it for this you resigned everything?” I blurted out.

“Exactly,” he replied.

“Where does it lead to?”

“North Pole.”

I turned to him in astonishment, he stared back defiantly.

I refrained from remark, but—a sensible man like Saxe. should have such
a fool desire!

“And the end?” I asked stupidly.

“North Pole!” he cried out impatiently.

“Well! well! well!”

He took my arm and led me down stairs, remarking: “I was about to eat
the finest dinner I ever tasted in my life.”

I certainly enjoyed the meal. As a cook, Saxe. was an expert. His superb
Sauterne and Chianti loosened our tongues, and Saxe. speedily learned I
was wide and adrift as to my future intentions. This was during the
pessimistic Sauterne stage, when the preparatory gloom of expected
hilarity causes one to view life sadly, and I ended up a long-winded
refrain with: “Honestly, Saxe., I believe the end of it all will be a
woman!”

Saxe. was horrified.

“A woman!” he yelled, “A woman! good heavens, Salucci, you must be mad!”

“It’s an ordinary madness,” I snapped, “and I see no occasion for
excitement if eventually the main idea should develop into a woman.
What’s so terrible about it? All our brilliant men and heroes end their
careers with a woman.”

“Stuff!” cried Saxe. “Stuff and nonsense! you’re not in earnest, you’d
cease to interest me if you were. Yet there’s a lot in your statement.
Many great men have ended with a woman—that was their death; but all
accomplished their ambition before seeking diversion.”

I laughed, and told him he had just quoted me—women were the most
delightful diversion the world contained. He flushed and tried to appear
angry. I laughed louder and asked him how old he was. He seemed younger
than when I left college. He shook his head impatiently, and cried,
“Fudge! got over all that twenty years ago. I’m near fifty,” he told me,
“but a man can remain the same age fifteen years. How old do I look?”

“Thirty-five,” I answered promptly.

“I thought so,” he replied slyly, “a man always remains that at least
fifteen years, and it is generally understood we do not reach prime till
sixty—ahem!”

We’d reached the Chianti, and also the conclusion that we were both
rather fortunate than otherwise in being alive. This is a cheering,
vigorous thought, and the Chianti inspired lengthy discussions upon all
manner of scientific subjects; and as my interests were centered in the
attic Saxe. finally took me up there again.

I made straight for the great canvas covering, and Saxe., who had thrown
reserve to the winds, assisted me to remove the covering, and to my
astonished eyes was revealed the monstrous machinery of—what? It was a
massive structure composed entirely of steel, and looked like a
locomotive resting upon sleds. The snoot had a projectile three feet in
circumference and nine feet long, terminating at the base to the size of
a three karat diamond, and the diamond was there, sparkling and blazing
away in serene splendor. A ridiculously small button was pressed and the
sleds slowly ascended, exposing the base of the machine, which was
shaped like a canoe. Another button pressed and the projectile shot into
a socket.

“It’s magnificent! a marvelous invention, Saxe. What’s it intended for?”
But Saxe. ignored my question.

“It certainly is a beautiful thing to look at, but useless,” he told me;
“a failure which some day I shall master. I am in a fair way to succeed,
as I have discovered the faults and now only have to discover the
remedy.”

An odd look of hopelessness and defiance shaded his face, he turned as
though to hide the expression.

“I haven’t been near it for months,” he continued, “everything is in
readiness, though. I keep it that way in case I take the notion and
won’t have to waste time in preparations; but to look at it sometimes
sickens me.”

“Courage,” I told him, “you cannot fail. You are master of the
instrument because aware of its imperfections.”

He sighed heavily, then explained the faults of his machine, which I
examined with enthusiasm. I became inspired and declared positively I
could perfect it. Saxe. smiled and replaced the covering, then trotted
me from his treasure room.

“You are a one-idea-at-a-time man; you have said it is the secret of the
prolongation of youth. At present your splendid intellect is a blank and
I will not take advantage of it. Go, remain away a week, think well of
your future, mature what indefinite plans you may have formed. Should
you return within the week I know you are free, untrammeled, open to
suggestion and the supreme idea. Whichever way you decide, Salucci, I
wish you prosperity and success.”

I grasped his hand as he escorted me to the door. I had spent the entire
day with him and it was evening now, beautiful with the white light of
the moon. Saxe. stepped out to inhale the fresh, balmy air, and greeted
a man who was coming up the little gravel path, who informed him it was
an indifferent night for observations.

The light from the door fell upon his features and I recognized
Professor Saunders, the astronomer, whose lectures I had often listened
to with the keenest interest. He greeted me, then murmured something,
entered the house and rapidly vanished in the region of the attic.
Saxe., anxious to join his friend, rather abruptly bade me good-night,
however, reminding me I had been haphazard long enough. “Be decisive,”
he murmured.



                              CHAPTER III.


I thought of Saxe. and his strange instrument, continually wondering
what it was intended for, while my fingers twitched to handle it. The
old glamour of Saxe.’s companionship was upon me, again was I ambitious,
dauntless, scorning difficulties, confident I could accomplish what he,
with all his superior knowledge, had failed to do—perfect and set in
motion the machinery that he had nearly wasted his entire life upon.

Anxious to test my ability, positive of success, I lost no time in
presenting myself to Saxe. early the next day.

He was hurried when admitting me and speeded down the hall, bidding me
to follow.

“Frogs saute,” he explained, “and Saunders and Sheldon are here—know
’em?”

“Met Sheldon some time ago and Saunders last night,” I reminded him.

“So you did, so you did!” he agreed. “Well, you won’t disturb them;
they’re at it, as usual.”

The two gentlemen were seated at a table engrossed with a chart between
them and deep in discussion or, more correctly speaking, quarreling.
They nodded impatiently as I entered and paid no attention whatever as I
seated myself and tried to take a hand in the argument. I moved the
chart to suit my convenience and then the gentlemen quit quarreling with
each other to take sides against me, and I was soon bawling louder than
either, my indignation roused to boiling point because they repeatedly
yelled: “Hush up, boy, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” Saxe.
howled for peace, and passed around something, the flavor of which
inspired deep friendship and good fellowship, and amid the jollity he
declared I complimented him, always turning up at meal time. I honestly
enjoyed dining with the old boys. We sat in our shirt sleeves and
conversed in comfort, time no object, and the jokes numerous, whose
piquancy only a wit could appreciate.

“And for twelve years,” I said, finally, to no one in particular, “you
people have been going on like this, easy, careless, comrades always,
with the expectation of some day attaining your ambitions.”

“Yes,” answered Saunders, “comrades always, but not idlers. The twelve
years have been mightily employed, we have made much progress toward the
great end. My star, ‘the star,’ scintillates in the same position, been
there trillions of years, but invisible because blazing away just above
the colossal pivot of Earth. Astronomers have calculated pretty closely
the exact position it should occupy on the astral map, but most have
calculated wrong. The subject is always an incentive for much
controversy, but one and all agree to the certainty of the phenomenon,
and if the world revolved according to antiquated supposition—like a
ball—we would be permitted to gaze upon the egg-shaped, pinkish-hued
marvel. It is the twin planet. My assertions are based upon deep
calculations.”

He was daring and—like most daring people—queer. He had joined many
expeditions to the north to perfect observations of the polar sphere,
but before penetrating very far into the ice regions something or other
had always frightened the life most out of him and he returned home with
the liveliest speed.

Saxe.’s other crony was Sheldon, a genial, patient, cool old party, who
became excited only when arguing with Saunders. He had a mania for
rivers, declaring all bodies of fresh water were fed from an
undercurrent which flowed through great arteries, connected with an
ocean of fresh water, supposedly located somewhere in the region of the
Pole. He had completed arrangements to join the next expedition to the
north, his intention to explore around for this great fresh water ocean.
His arguments were very convincing and his cool, calm, positive
assertions made you almost believe his statements. The man was odd,
undoubtedly very odd. And Saxe., dear old Saxe., the hard-headed
Professor, whom the boys at college dared not play pranks upon, Saxe.,
with his wonderful inventive genius and vast researches in scientific
regions, this man with the brilliant brain, was living in seclusion with
a set of cranks and wasting his life upon the North Pole. He formed no
wild theories based upon wilder calculations, it was to discover the
unknown summit, and he vowed he would do it before he died. The
determination of all three men was inspiring. They had their clientele,
of course, and their writings were widely read. Sheldon was famous as a
lecturer and ranked high in various Geographical-Geological societies,
who, however, considered his views concerning the vast ocean of fresh
water rather as a joke, a side issue, a hobby; he was not taken
seriously. Saunders was a scientific writer of renown and referred to as
an authority upon the stellar science, but astronomers while listening
gravely, sympathetically, to his learned discourse upon the known but
invisible planet, were frankly skeptical and a daring few challenged
him. It was then, Sheldon informed me, that Saunders spunkily made his
rushing trips to the north and back again, then stoically issued a new
thesis upon the invisible twin world which usually silenced, for a time,
his derogators. But Saxe., no one dared exchange witticisms with him,
his natural secretiveness and air of mystery he affected made all regard
him with awe and boosted him to the celebrity class. His studied
aloofness forced continual respect, something few brilliant men have
been able to retain.

“Spread, air your plans,” he said, “and at once you lose interest in
them; they never again belong entirely to you; besides, people shy at
you. Hopes keep as invisible as your heart.”

He was wonderful in his firm belief that he of all men was destined to
discover the North Pole.

And here after all my wanderings and bizarre experiences, my strong
ambitions and brilliant ideas, I, with my vast wealth and equally vast
longings, winded up with this strange trio. But their buoyant confidence
attracted me, it was an entirely new atmosphere, permeated with a wild,
mystic charm. Saunders’ beautiful, invisible star, Sheldon’s vast body
of limpid, fresh water, and the Pole, with all the mysteries of the dead
portion of the earth surrounding it; here was a new experience, a grand,
new experience, unique; enough to satisfy the most blasé.

Sheldon and Saunders remained till late, but when Saxe. and I were alone
he regarded me keenly, gravely.

“As usual,” he said, “you have disregarded all advice, flung aside all
plans definite or otherwise, to plunge headlong into—have you any idea
what it is you are about to take up?”

“Most congenial company I’ve encountered for years,” I replied. “Saxe.,
I’m as much alone upon this earth as though the only mortal treading it;
don’t deny me the pleasure of your company, surely we’ve all passed a
very jolly afternoon together.”

“You didn’t return for that,” he said sharply; “as for the two who have
just left, they can be joyful, they live in their imaginations, I upon
facts. They need encouragement, they’re doomed to disappointment, while
I, Salucci, God! millions and millions of leagues away, hardly
discernible, yet I can see—Triumph gleams and sparkles, and beckons. I
shall accomplish all I’ve undertaken; success is for me. I’ve spent my
whole life upon one grand scheme, while you have wasted yours upon a
dozen. You misdirect, waste your vitality, your energy evaporates, you
accomplished nothing; not one of your brilliant ideas absorbed you;
insincere always, simply a pastime. Success naturally frowned, and all
these years you might have been comfortably asleep.”

His object in taking this tone I didn’t question, but his talking did me
a world of good; ambition fired me, I was positive that at last I had
discovered the supreme idea.

“I’ve formed no plans for the future,” I told him, “and returned to you
because I wish to put my new idea in action at once. I’ve decided to
join you; there’ll be four instead of three—a gold backing, and there’s
no such thing as failure. Inform me of every detail of your great
scheme, initiate me into the mysteries of your attic. Saxe., I swear I
can perfect your machinery.”

He stared, his face quite white; this time he did not smile at my boast.
We rose together and clasped hands across the table, and he, his voice
husky with emotion, murmured: “It is the noblest, grandest scheme ever
created, but the end may feaze you; still, I believe you to be sincere
this time, may your genius aid you to perfect what I have slaved a
lifetime over. Come!”

Up the narrow, creaking stairs we went. Saxe. flooded the place with
light and there was the monstrous machinery with unsightly covering,
which he reverently removed, and the masterpiece of steel was revealed
in all its glory. The polish of the cylinder, and great propeller which
failed to work, was dazzling; the delicate lace tracery wrought in the
steel wrung from me a cry of admiration.

“Shame, shame, Saxe., what a shame it is imperfect!”

He shook his head. “It enrages me,” he cried vehemently, “to be able to
plan a thing like that, then to be devoid of the trick to perfect it,
for it will be by chance, a trick I have so far been unable to hit.”

With delight I placed my hands upon the shining metal, then slowly,
deliberately began taking the huge instrument apart.

Saxe. remonstrated wildly and wished to explain, but I knew his
explanations would take hours and his persistence finally so annoyed me
I caught him by the shoulders and rushed him from the room quickly,
closing and locking the door. He clamored for admittance and bawled
instructions.

“I am responsible for all damage,” I called through the keyhole. I heard
him sigh heavily as I turned away, but became so absorbed with my task
that I forgot him, everybody. I took that machine apart and placed it
together again, I don’t know how many times. I was unconscious of
fatigue, heedless of time, and after hours of tedious work was
courageous and alive with energy. But the strain at last must have dazed
me, I was confused when putting the infernal instrument together for the
final time and made the blunder that ended the difficulty. Wheels,
shafts, slides seemed to fit easier into sockets; screws, pins shot into
cavities without a rasp. I noticed this, but supposed I was becoming
expert, having taken the thing apart so many times, but when the steel
monster again towered before me complete I cussed softly, and for the
first time doubted my skill. The beauty, contour of the machine was
ruined. I would try it again of course, but I was a fool to attempt
where Saxe. had failed. Cautiously I set to work to discover the blunder
and accidentally touched the propeller, which suddenly rose and shot
into its socket and started all portions of the machine into action. I
caught my breath, not daring to believe, then commenced experimenting by
uncoupling the brakes. The instrument darted forward several yards
without the customary whirring noise which warned the operator of a
smash-up. I could have shouted for joy—Saxe.’s machine was perfected—I
had succeeded.

I discovered the cylinders were partially filled with a peculiar,
odorless liquid, and recklessly entered the car and adjusted the lever.
The locomotive jerkily responded and slowly we rolled around the room. I
had much difficulty steering clear of the walls and various articles in
the way and became interested and perplexed in the regular action of the
propeller, which shot in and out as though seeking something to
demolish, and at last, for all my care, the diamond prod crashed into a
huge square of glass and crushed it to atoms. Then it flashed upon me
what Saxe.’s invention was intended for and in spite of myself I
shouted. An answering shout reached me from the landing outside. I
sprang from the car and flung open the door. Three men, wild with
excitement, rushed in upon me. Saxe. grabbed and embraced me, yelling
all sorts of foolish things. Sheldon and Saunders caught my hands and
bawled their congratulations. My head throbbed and I grew dizzy with
joy. The reaction set in, my stamina deserted me, the wild entrance of
the enthusiastic trio roused me as from a dream. As though an eternity
away, like a zephyr, Saxe.’s voice reached me.

“Two days and a half, Virgillius, my boy; it was an awful strain. I
hammered repeatedly upon the door, but I don’t believe you even heard.”

“Two days and a half,” I muttered drowsily, then drank the liquor some
one handed to me and without further ceremony dropped off to sleep.



                              CHAPTER IV.


Saxe. christened his machine _Propellier_, an aptly chosen name, then
rushed into print. He was mobbed by scientific societies, and lectured
widely about everything except what his “marvelous invention” was
intended for; and it became public wonder to what use this machine was
to be put that would butt, crush, and pass over all obstacles.

As he mentioned me continually in connection with the _Propellier_, we
were both much interviewed and written up lengthily.

Cranks clustered around the little house in the suburbs, and almost
annoyed the life out of Saxe. with their arrogant demands, and police
protection became necessary.

Saxe. was famous and sailed the wave of popularity for about three
weeks, and then—well, all waves recede, but this one simply calmed.
Saxe. and his invention were not forgotten, because he was wise enough
to keep the public guessing. Later, when preparations were progressing
rapidly for the one great aim of his life, he in his thankfulness became
more communicative, satisfying curiosity, ending all doubts. He lectured
before a vast throng of scientists, educators, and students, who wildly
applauded him as he divulged the secret of his ambition and the
usefulness of his invention. He declared the Pole would never be
discovered without the aid of science, and his invention would greatly
lessen the many hardships previous explorers suffered (applause). All
the tremendous difficulties of Arctic travel would vanish before the
terrible force of the _Propellier_; and he verged nicely into details
with deep explanations, and ended he would reach the Pole, then explore
the surrounding territory.

Seated upon the stage were several famous lecturers, all had a few
remarks to make, chiefly in discouragement of Saxe.’s grand project,
placing great stress upon real and imaginary obstacles, and aggravating
the listeners enthused with Saxe.’s scheme; but he was too far gone to
heed advice, happy that his years of labor were over, he sat there
smiling and chuckling.

Saunders had his little say also, spoke glowingly of the expedition, and
became eloquent over his wondrous northern star of the brilliant pinkish
hue. His statements were positive, and many in the audience nodded
approval, and he was enthusiastically applauded when he finally ended
his remarks.

Then Sheldon, encouraged by his colleagues and not to be outdone by
Saunders in one little instance, rose and exploded his theory concerning
the rivers, lakes and vast body of fresh water supposedly located in the
vicinity of the Pole. He created a sensation and in his enthusiasm
stated as facts the most preposterous hallucinations, and smiles were
broad while college veal showed its appreciation in squeaks and
irrepressible guffaws, to be frowned upon by their superiors, who were
making the most outrageous grimaces themselves. But Sheldon was blind,
as were also the large number of sympathizers present, who listened
eagerly and believed every word he uttered and cheered him loudly when
he resumed his seat. Sheldon proved the star attraction among the large
assemblage of wise men.

My three friends became known throughout the press as “the three
renowned,” and the expedition to the North Pole was written up
learnedly, ending with the statement, the start would be made early in
the spring; whereupon a wag, itching for a thrashing, suggested we take
the Relief Party along, as there was nothing like having things
convenient. My own name invariably ended all articles where apparently
it had been roped in as an afterthought, and I discovered I belonged to
the expedition. Here indeed was an idea, but I refused to entertain it.
I was open for much enterprise, but the North Pole was beyond my
latitude.

Then Middleton, Burke and Rollins swooped down upon me, each armed with
a paper and anxiety upon their faces, and gravely I told them the Pole
was Saxlehner’s property, and I had no desire to buy it from him. I
confided to them my doubts of the whole undertaking and that positively
I wanted none of it. My assurance greatly calmed the old boys. To
deceive them was my last thought, for I had not the remotest idea of
joining the expedition. My slim genius refused to risk life for science.
I had a mighty discussion and determined settlement with the “renowned
ones” concerning the financial problem. I knew the three cronies could
not rake up a thousand between them, but the amazing fact was forced
upon me that they seriously objected to accepting funds from me. Sheldon
was balky, Saunders grimly uncompromising, and Saxe. declared he would
not have those three “sharks” claiming he had bunkoed me into the
scheme. It was Saxe.’s positive belief that the firm of Middleton & Co.
were the greatest sharks out of water.

But I argued with the stubborn trio, and pressed the issue determinedly
when I saw them weakening. I laughed heartily at Saunders’s hesitating
suggestion that the government would contribute largely toward the
expense of the expedition, also, that many scientific societies all over
the world would render valuable assistance. I did not doubt his
assertion, for it would have created the widest of gulfs, but I reminded
him that in about ten years the expedition would be ready to start. This
ended the controversy. The very idea of delay threw the old boys into
despair, and for twelve years they had been waiting for just such an
opportunity as I offered them.

With plans that had been formed for years and unlimited capital at their
disposal, arrangements were rushed to completion.

For weeks Saxe., Sheldon, and Saunders worked like beavers. Saxe. was as
jealous of his invention as a lover of his mistress; no one was
permitted to inspect his work and the _Propellier_ and three steel cars
were cast and completed by himself. I assisted him in taking apart and
packing the machinery in crates. Saxe. was a wonderful manager, the
whole of the extensive preparations were left entirely to him per
arrangement. He gave the closest attention to the most insignificant
item, perfecting each little detail. He chartered a vessel and made a
cast-iron agreement with the shipping company that vessels were to
cruise around in Arctic waters at certain dates and locations every year
for seven years; if we failed to turn up at the end of that period the
agreement was called off. He stored in provisions for a seven year
cruise but privately told me they would discover the Pole, and return in
less than three years. In my heart I believed they would never return.
The idea was to sail as far north as possible. Saxe. calculated on
reaching the Pole six or eight weeks after starting with the
_Propellier_. The three were thoroughly familiar with the ice country
and had their route mapped out first rate, but I was dubious; it seemed
to me nothing less than suicide, yet Saxe. was thoroughbred in his work
and his confidence exhilarating. From the start I had been closely
associated with the three famous scientists, and eventually it became
noised about that Salucci, the millionaire, was to head the expedition.
As I neither affirmed nor denied the report my indecision caused the
three “sharks” to storm the citadel in the suburbs.

Saxe. had a wordy war with Middleton & Co., but they capitulated before
his lengthy explanations and departed satisfied, enthusiastic, privately
informing me the Professor was a wonderful man and that it was
preposterous that he could fail; and for the first time in my life I was
flinging my money away sensibly. I notified them of my intention to
escort the expedition north to a certain point, then return with the
ship. My unusual lack of enthusiasm allayed their suspicions and
convinced them I was meditating some new enterprise. Unknowingly I
deceived the old gentlemen, my sudden reticence was to avoid making
positive promises. I wished to be untrammeled in case enthusiasm forced
me at the last moment to cast my luck with Saxe., but I doubted if any
sensation could inveigle me into such a rash proposition as that Saxe.,
Sheldon, and Saunders were contemplating, but I remained silent.

About two weeks before the date of departure Saxe., satisfied with the
outlook, and but a few minor details to attend to, ordered an easing up
of labor and we made the astonishing discovery we were notorious. It
seemed the interest of the entire world was centered upon us, and it
made Saxe. crabbed. He had lived so long in seclusion and the one idea,
had figured and planned and became so thoroughly familiar with the
northern zone—on the map—that he could see nothing unusual in his
stupendous undertaking and thought no more of it than I would of a trip
to Europe.

“It’s a private expedition taken solely to test the theories of a few
scientists. The public didn’t pungle up with any funds, so whose concern
is it, anyhow?” he wanted to know, and blamed Middleton & Co., because
he was misquoted in fake interviews, though what they had to do with it
was a mystery. He took it upon himself to answer all adverse criticisms,
and was eminently successful in routing a few daring doubters. In the
scientific world the “renowned illustrious” were considered heroes. They
lectured before colleges and vast scientific bodies, and their writings
in scientific publications were widely read. They indulged in numerous
unaccustomed diversions and were banqueted almost nightly. I thought it
a poor way to prepare the constitution for polar hardships, but Saxe.
said once out of civilization we would become normal again. However, I
decided to call a halt and rescued my three brave comrades from the
courtesies they could not resist, by giving a return banquet to those
who had honored us. It was our farewell, a sumptuous farewell, which
remained long in the memory of those who attended, but ended tragically
for me—the experience was destiny. Wine flowed freely, gayety ran high,
toasts, speech-making the order; some one started a noisy song and all,
even Saxe., joined in shouting the chorus. I shouted as loud as any, not
prompted by wine, but intent all should enjoy themselves. I had drunk
sparingly, though well seasoned and able to stand more than most. They
called upon me for a speech and the wits jocularly twitted me about the
ladies. So I toasted a dainty, little creature, who, like all
celebrities, was commonplace upon acquaintance. The boys yelled at my
choice. I twirled my glass recklessly, eager to spout some of my own
verses, but suddenly an odd change came upon me, I felt ill and chilled,
then apathetic, numbed; the glass fell with a smash. I could utter no
sound, but saw all watching me curiously. Middleton rose in alarm, but
Saxe. reached me first and caught me as I fell forward inert, helpless,
but painfully conscious. I deeply regretted my sudden indisposition, my
collapse created a panic and ended the evening’s festivities.

An intensely cold air suddenly rushed upon me, chilling my blood. I was
being conveyed to some place, but could distinguish nothing in the
vague, dreamy vapor gradually enveloping me, which became heavier and
heavier, forming a dark wall surrounding me in a silence deep,
oppressive; then like a flash I saw clear again, and to my amazement was
in my rooms alone seated at the table, book in hand, comfortable,
peaceful, while a tornado scourged the city. It was a night of inky
blackness, freezingly cold, and vaguely I felt sympathy for the
homeless, and those obliged to be out in such a storm; then there was
the sound of crashing timber and frightful shrieks roused me from my
lethargy and I realized I would not be spared for all my riches. Violent
gusts of wind shook the building. I feared the roof would cave in and
crush me, yet calculated nicely just how long it would take for the
expected to happen. I felt no alarm or discomfort at the destruction
going on, but when too late realized peril in the awful roaring, fateful
crash in my vicinity. The walls of my rooms fell apart, the ceiling rose
and was carried away and I borne with frightful velocity upon the wind,
tossed hither and thither; and this tornado with the strength of a
hundred thousand giants had the gentleness of a lover. Upon a bed of
soft, flaky clouds I finally floated in delicious tranquillity and
gradually with exquisite tenderness I was lowered to a wonderful world
of down. As far as the eye reached was a vast plain of fairy-land,
dazzling in whiteness, maddening in silence, with a ridge of pale
mountains gleaming blue, phantom-like. My flesh quivered with the cold,
but I was powerless to move or cry out; and here in this great, icy
throne, was I forced to sit and gaze at the desolate wilderness of snow,
snow, snow; a vast, strange region, with dead, suffocating vapor
clinging to my nostrils; dumb, a prey to fear and wonder. The roar and
crash of the tornado; anything but this horrible stillness with the
heavy dread enveloping me. I remained there forever, it seemed, but
gradually my eyes became accustomed to the dull, leaden atmosphere, and
I perceived far, far in the distance, a small point of color advancing.
Over the ridge of myth mountains it bounded with wonderful velocity,
this rolling circle of light, the nearer it approached swelled to
enormous dimensions, a huge globe of dull, ominous red, betraying the
force, the foundation of destruction. This gigantic world of fire with
marvelous bounds sped straight toward me, I seemingly the magnet. I
tried to move; could not. On it came with increasing rapidity, I
directly in its path. It would come—it would pass over me—God! The
horror of the position broke my dumbness, I shrieked and shrieked and
lived through the tortures of the damned. The hell globe was most upon
me, then as though with fiendish mockery it retreated, then advanced,
then retreated again, it swayed back and forth as though attached to a
mighty pendulum swung in the grasp of some sinister monster. I shut my
eyes—I had committed no crime except in being rich—and waited ages, ages
it seemed for oblivion. But nothing happened, no great weight of intense
heat crushed me, all was as before, icy, still. I ventured to glance
around, the great, fiery globe was there, but farther away burning less
vividly, it became dull, duller, and finally with a loud explosion burst
apart, forming into a fiery stage for a wondrous scene. In amazement I
gazed upon the blackish-red clouds, curling thickly upward. In the
smoking midst a reclining form floated and undulated, gathering and
manipulating the density till all was consumed and in the vivid
clearness a gorgeous scene was revealed. In wonder and delight I gazed
into the burning splendor at a myth, houri, such ravishing beauty could
not be mortal. Thick masses of jetty hair mingled with the heavy, dusky
clouds; starry, flashing eyes burned into mine and scorched me; tall,
majestic, scintillating with jewels, red lips parted in an alluring
smile, she beckoned to me. I stared, fascinated. She drew to her side an
odd instrument and her white fingers caressed the wires, music there
must have been, but I could not hear. As I watched a shadow appeared
which gradually grew firmer, taking form and finally the dim outlines of
a man were revealed bending eagerly toward the luxurious creature. He
was pleading, passionate admiration betrayed in his whole attitude. And
this man, this man with his slavish devotion was—myself. I, the man of
the world, the cynic with a well-known temperament of an icicle. I gazed
astounded at this shadow of myself and my heart warmed and beat
violently as I watched the strangely beautiful vision; in that moment I
loved, loved almost as madly as the shadow. She turned as though in
welcome to another, then suddenly a brilliant, golden light shrouded the
whole, the globe of fire crashed together and bounded away in space,
tinging the universe with a glorious roseate hue. With the last
vanishing streak of pink came desolation; in the midst of this gloom a
man approached walking rapidly, determinedly. He reached me and passed
without heeding my call. I yelled after him, he turned—the man’s face
was my own. On he went with great strides, obstacles faded beneath the
power of his will. I followed, though not conscious of moving, and at
last with a shout of triumph, he halted upon the highest peak of the
phantom mountains, one foot sunk to the knee in snow, the other ankle
deep in rich, rank grass.

“Saxe.!” he shouted, “Saxlehner!”

His voice rang clarion-like over the vast prairies of ice and snow, the
piercing sound echoed in my ears and startled me out of my trance; my
eyes opened wide in reason. I was lying upon a couch in my own room, the
sun streamed broadly through the open window, and Saxe. sat at the table
drinking coffee and reading the morning paper. My head was swathed in
ice-cold bandages, but the slightest movement gave me excruciating pain.

“Saxe.!” I called.

“All right, my boy,” he answered; “feel better?”

“What’s the row?”

“Oh, nothing serious, just the usual thing,” he replied. “If it hadn’t
been for me you would have gone to sleep under the table, where most of
them passed the night, I imagine.”

“Was that really what ailed me? I thought it was a trance.”

“Fact!” chuckled Saxe. “Trance, eh? well, well, well—trance! But it’s
usually mentioned that way, I believe. There are others this morning
whose sick heads makes them positive about it. Trance!”

“Did I break up the fun?”

“You were merely an incident; after your removal the fun grew wilder, I
understand. But honestly, Salucci, I didn’t think it of you, I didn’t.”
And Saxe. gazed sternly at my pallid countenance, then pulling down the
shades he advised me to rest.

I lay there with my aching head and thought of my wondrous vision. The
marvelous beauty of it all so distinctly impressed me that I could gloat
over the slightest detail. I reveled in reverie and saw again the sweet,
alluring smile, deep, burning eyes, and royal magnificence of raiment.
My desires ruled me as with a great heart throb I realized I loved; I
the last of a long line of scorning people who could not realize the
sweet passion. And such love! such adoration! It steeped my whole being
in delight. I was reckless, folly full, madly enamoured with a
phantom—an ideal. The dull-red globe with its reflecting golden mist
enshrouding the brilliant, gorgeous creature, haunted me, and again and
again the shadow of myself treaded the wide snow plains and lofty ice
mountains, the whole enveloped in the mystery of the Unknown, convincing
me of the truth of the inspired idea treasured in the fabulous cell of
Thought, the extravagance of which I dared not utter. The vision of
midnight tresses would become a reality. I would search the earth and
seek this woman in her own world. I would be successful. It was fate. My
adoration would kindle desire as the beauty had fired me; and then....



                               CHAPTER V.


I had a long consultation with Saxe., then joined the expedition. I
expected he would try to dissuade me from my intention, but on the
contrary, he seemed singularly happy at my decision and confided to me
his strange, strange theory.

“I do not search for the Pole,” he told me, “but for the great countries
I know exist beyond. The world has never been fully explored, and,
Virgillius, it never will be. Once, long ago, ships never sailed beyond
the Strait of Gibraltar, the great waste of water meeting the horizon
line was simply the ‘jumping-off place.’ Later, according to
civilization, Europe, Asia, and Africa comprised the world, and history
relates the jeers Columbus’s contrary but positive assertions received.
We’ve made rapid progress since those primitive times.

“Explorers usually are blessed with vivid imaginations—those who seek
the Pole, expect to discover a vast continent on the other side; all
have the same positive idea concerning the unknown regions, but dare not
express them. Now take Sheldon,” he continued, “do you suppose a man of
his learning expects to discover a great body of fresh water in the
Arctic zone? Not much! And Saunders, and his wonderful star, whose
existence has never been disputed by scientific readers of the heavens.
He declares the earth egg-shaped, not round, as many commonly believe
has been proven—nothing has been proven. The great twin planet is
visible upon the other side of this globe similar to the Moon, which
exposes but one side of her disc to us—the uninhabited sphere.”

I gasped. Saxe. chuckled at my astonishment and grasped my hand.

“Glad you’ve joined us, my boy,” he said. “It’s a good move. You’ll find
more confined within the boundary of Earth than in your wildest dreams
of paradise. Now, tell me—why have you so suddenly decided to join the
expedition?”

He looked at me keenly and I felt my face burning hot but remained mute.
Saxe. dropped my hand. “Keep it to yourself,” he said. “I dare say it’s
a very good reason; it ought to be, you’re so jealous of it, and I’ll
learn all about it in good time. Don’t mention our conversation to
Saunders, or Sheldon; as intimate as we are the subject has never gone
beyond the Pole. We all actually believe we’re greatly fooling the
other, but Saunders will travel till he beholds his star; Sheldon will
never halt till he discovers his phenomenal body of water; and I, I have
worked for years and spent my last cent that ultimately I can be the
discoverer of the other side of the globe. And you, Virgillius, you are
going because you—er—have nothing else to do?”

I laughed and took up my hat to depart. How the devil could I tell the
old sport I was going to the North Pole, in search of—er—a woman. I, who
fancied myself above the ordinary, a side light to gleam and flash
fitfully, never with the steady glow of genius, found myself in the
category of every-day, commonplace men, whose careers always end with a
woman, as I now dared hope mine would.

                  *       *       *       *       *

The day finally arrived when we were to steam away upon our long,
venturesome voyage. I was the last to board the little whaling vessel.
Saxe., Sheldon, and Saunders were on deck busily occupied.
Saxe. had an elderly female clinging and sobbing upon his
shoulder, accompanied by two pretty girls with red eyes and
sniffles. Saunders was standing apart, holding tightly the
hand of a young man who appeared very serious, and talked
very rapidly, while Saunders listened with that aggravating
air—talk-away-young-man-if-it-makes-you-feel-better-but-it’s-useless.
The young man was Saunders, Jr. Sheldon, obvious to everything, was up
in a corner embracing a portly dame, who wept copiously. Portly dame
unknown and nobody’s business. I became as blind as a bat, and was
hailed by Middleton & Co., who nabbed me after a red-hot chase and
started to argue. Never was such eloquence heard outside the bar. The
gentlemen had suddenly become convinced I was deceiving them, and their
suspicions and fears had to be quieted. I felt ashamed of myself, but
could not give up the expedition. My brain throbbed with the memory of
the blazing vision, and my three lawyers put aside their dignity and
trotted to keep up with me as I paced the deck with amorous strides. I
hurried the trio to my cabin, opened several bottles, and out-argued
them, till finally, Middleton, sighing heavily, wrung my hand in
parting.

“Keep your word, my boy,” he warned.

“And what do you expect me to do?” I asked.

“Oh, never mind,” he replied, “only see that you return.”

“That I certainly will,” I told him, and I kept my word.

I felt sorry to part with the old boys, but honestly it was a relief to
see them trooping from the ship with other visitors. I did not feel safe
from them till I saw them on the wharf waving their kerchiefs as we
pulled out. Saxe. walked up and down smoking vigorously, answering very
testily if any one dared address him. Saunders was leaning dangerously
forward over the railing, bawling to the young man on the pier, who was
bawling back at him, neither understanding what the other was bawling.
Sheldon, with a red nose, was seated upon a barrel sentimentally
studying a photo, presumably of the portly one; and all three, I firmly
believe, were willing to back out of the expedition if they dared. We
were forced to drop all sentimental nonsense and acknowledge the
magnificent send-off tendered us, though every last blessed mortal who
wished us luck were positive we would never return. Bare-headed the four
of us shouted and gesticulated like mad in response to the hubbub;
bedlam reigned; our ship was surrounded by every conceivable craft in
existence. The ear-splitting shriek of infernal tugs, and launches,
nearly drove us demented, making us deaf to the salutes of little
white-halls, and yachts, crowded with wealthy, idle men in flannels, who
whooped as we steamed past, roused to momentary enthusiasm because they
had nothing else to do. The pleasure-seekers accompanied us till the
swell of heavy seas drove them back one by one, and at last, thank
Heaven! the awful din was quieted and we, speeding swiftly, alone,
between water and sky toward the goal Saxe. had worked a lifetime for.
He became very chummy with the captain, who was the most profane man I
ever ran across.

Sheldon and Saunders found their charts and quarrels so interesting, I
was left entirely to myself, though ennui was killed in vain dreams of
an image, an impossibility, thrilling and rousing dormant sensibilities
I did not believe myself possessed of. I idled away hours, becoming
absolutely useless, and Saxe. dispensing with my services, ordered me
from the box he had converted into a laboratory.

At his expressed wish we anchored at several northern ports, and were
usually received by a committee of speech-making asses, who forced
banquets, balls and receptions upon us. At one port two of the crew
deserted and delayed us four days; then when all was in readiness for
departure, Saxe., to our astonishment, was missing. We appealed to the
captain, who declared, if necessary, he would wait six months for
Saxlehner, who he was confident, however, would be along soon. Sheldon
confidentially told me he believed Saxe. had deserted, while Saunders
fretfully hoped the expedition wasn’t going to end here. Saxe.’s absence
was beginning to worry us, when towards the close of the following day
he put in an appearance, very tired but exultant, and that night several
hundred cans of two gallons each containing some mysterious fluid was
shipped aboard. This explained Saxe.’s absence, and he explained the
mysterious chemical was used in his secret solution which supplied the
motor power to the _Propellier_, and was absolutely proof against what
he termed “atmospheric influence,” and could be procured in large
quantities only in this vicinity. At this stage of the explanation I
departed. I knew Saxe. would divulge nothing, his secretive method in
securing the chemical was sufficient for me. Not to a living soul would
Saxe. ever impart the knowledge of how he manufactured his marvelous
electric fluid, but Saunders and Sheldon hung on in the vain hope that
Saxe. in his enthusiasm might forget himself; and this after all their
years of association with him. They had failed to discover that he was
the worst old fox in creation. As there was no further cause for
dallying we decided to slight those ports where we were expected to
anchor and steamed straight for the north. Four days out we encountered
a heavy storm, high seas washed the decks clean of everything. Affairs
looked serious at one time, but Captain Norris buoyed us up with the
information this was merely a trifle to what we were fated to encounter
before we reached the Pole. Saunders said he predicted the storm from
the position of wind clouds and atmospheric, etc., etc., etc. Sheldon
declared it was brought on by Saxe.’s meddling with combustibles, and
aggravated by Sally’s volcanic thoughts (a dig at my idleness).

The storm lasted three days, then one morning the sun rose in all
serenity and we were nearing the coast of Greenland.

To please various prominent individuals who continually worried him with
suggestions, Saxe. favored the Nansen route, though his own had been
mapped out years ago when the _Propellier_ was in its infancy.
“Following a northerly flowing current was all right for Nansen, and the
_Fram_,” he argued, “but the famous Polar Basin, free of ice, has still
to be located—Nansen failed.”

He had great admiration for Dr. Kane, considering him the bravest and
most scientific of explorers.

“His dash for the Pole was not successful, because with all his
tremendous knowledge he neglected the fact that the unknown, frozen
north must be traversed by steel and steam, as is the civilized portion
of the globe; and,” he continued, “we have progressed immensely since
1850,” then saluted deeply to our vigorous applause.

“Boys,” he cried, waving his cap, “I swear we shall succeed.”

Even Norris, though shaking his head, joined us in cheering.

Meanwhile we steamed steadily north, up through Davis Strait, viewing
the great island of Greenland, bleak, cold, sterile, arctic. We anchored
in the calm, deep blue waters of Baffins Bay, a half mile from the icy,
snowy coast, and our luggage packed in small boats was towed to land.
The captain and crew rendered us every assistance. These men had become
wonderfully kind to us, believing firmly we were going to our death.
Under their experienced hands tents for our accommodation reared as by
magic, and we began the work of putting the _Propellier_ together.
Captain Norris had little faith in the _Propellier_, he asserted
positively the machine would take us beyond human aid then “bust up.” He
informed us of his intention to tarry in this vicinity several weeks; in
case things went wrong with us he could hurry to the relief and gladly
take us back to civilization.

“It’s on my conscience,” he told us, “you cannot succeed; but men with a
fair amount of intelligence to risk their lives in a perilous attempt to
reach the Pole deserve to die. The world is overflowing with asses, but
those who commit such rash deeds are evil asses. Gentlemen, pardon me,
but encouragement is criminal. Why are you going?” he asked us sternly,
“For the benefit of science? Fudge! Professor Saunders, in search of a
star! Bah! the sky is overcrowded with stars. Prove they are inhabited
and you will benefit science. Professor Sheldon expects to discover a
huge body of fresh water resting placidly in hollow ice mountains upon
the frozen surface of the Polar Sea. And Saxlehner, with his remarkable
invention, intends to return with the Pole under his arm! Oh, gentlemen,
gentlemen! And you,” he continued, addressing me, “you with your
millions, why in God’s earth are you going?”

He argued some time, telling me I was the lover of Dame Fortune, and
gold the magnet of the universe. No one disputed with him and the poor
old fellow’s voice finally quivered and broke, he turned away.

We felt as sorry for Norris as he felt for us. He’d done his best to
persuade us to give up our polar trip—the absurdity of the effort was
too profound for laughter. Saxe. took the captain aside and eased the
troublesome conscience, convincing the poor gentleman, as he had
everybody else, of the perfect efficiency of his invention. He invited
him to examine the instrument which was rapidly nearing completion, and
patiently explained each portion of the machinery. Norris became very
interested and returned to his ship highly enthused over the
_Propellier_. We had pitched camp in the midst of a little Esquimaux
village, the chief told Saxe., who became very friendly with the tribe,
being able to speak a few words of their language, that they settled
here every season for the whaling and fishing. They pried around a good
deal and interestedly watched us working upon the _Propellier_. They
seemed to regard us with suspicion, but never failed to bring daily
tokens of their esteem in the way of fresh fish and oil. Saxe. repaid
their gifts with long strings of bright colored beads, which presumably
he packed along for that purpose. Captain Norris and his men were on
land most of the time assisting us, and created considerable jollity.
One or two of the crew started flirtations with several Esquimaux women,
rousing the ire of the men, who proceeded to chastise their women. I had
not noticed the facial characteristics of the Esquimaux sufficiently to
distinguish the sexes, they all looked alike, and when I saw them
quarreling and fighting I thought the whole settlement had gone on the
warpath, possibly over Saxe.’s beads, and we were in for it. Norris,
between shouts of laughter, informed me of my error and that the women
were thrashing the men.

The _Propellier_ and cars were eventually ready for the great trial
trip. The captain was invited to join us. He seemed dubious but
accepted, and as we entered the car the same thought came to every
blessed mother’s son of us—what if the blamed instrument should
explode—we compared notes after the trip. I turned sick at the thought
that now we were about to commence our journey in earnest the
_Propellier_ might fall short—we were all frank about our uneasiness.
Saxe. alone had faith in his instrument and swaggered through the car to
his place at the engine. All the sailors, and the whole Esquimaux
settlement turned out to see us off with whoops, and yells, that would
have sent a troop of Apaches scurrying in fright. Just at starting, the
_Propellier’s_ siren let off an ear-splitting blast that, in the clear
atmosphere, must have been heard for miles. Saxe. went very confidently
about his work, handling the great steel lever with expert skill. The
_Propellier_ dipped gracefully forward, we moved slowly. The sailors and
Esquimaux followed with leaps and shouts, and one merry sailor placed
his shoulder against the hind car as though to shove it forward and help
us along; he was hooted and cheered in turn by his laughing comrades,
but he came to grief. Saxe., oblivious, intent, sure of the result,
watched the strange little electric time-piece set above the lever which
he pressed several notches farther down, we bounded forward, gliding as
smooth as oil, and the suddenness of the start caused the meddlesome
sailor to fall—hard.

We literally flew, running at a rate of speed I did not believe the
_Propellier_ could ever reach, and as yet the lever nob had traveled but
one-half its notched road, and Saxe. would test the full length. His
eyes gleamed, and his usually ruddy face became pallid and pinched. He
bent in a listening attitude and slowly pressed the lever to its last
notch; the _Propellier_ had reached the speed limit. The runners plowed
the snow deeply, which flew up, covering the windows; we seemed to be
traveling in the air; I grew dizzy with the marvelous velocity. Our
captain seemed uneasy and wished to remonstrate with Saxe. to lessen
speed, but Saunders pushed him aside in time. It was useless to speak
with him now, Saxe. would not even hear; heart, soul, his very life, was
bound up in his invention. Should the _Propellier_ fail now that it had
reached perfection, his heart would break or he would lose his reason. I
went and stood beside him, the perspiration was streaming down his pale
face, his tense attitude must have been painful; in very pity I was
drawn to him. He was peering through the round magnifying window which
brought the distant scenery to closer view, revealing the ruggedness of
the snow plains. Suddenly the _Propellier_ swerved, then with a wide,
graceful turn made at full speed for camp. Saxe. rose to his full
height, the color returned to his face and he heaved a deep sigh of
relief, then saluted us.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “my invention is successful. I have the honor to
state we shall reach the North Pole, in less than nine weeks.”

From our hearts we cheered the old boy, our whoops mingled with the
shrill shrieks of the siren, and our return to camp was welcomed with
noisy delight.

Captain Norris shook hands with Saxe., who beamed with joy. He was
congratulated upon his success, and received the congratulations with
the loftiness of genius.

The _Propellier_ was perfect. The trip lasted one hour and twenty
minutes, and the highest rate of speed reached ninety-five miles an
hour.



                              CHAPTER VI.


Three days later we started upon our adventurous trip to the Pole.
Captain Norris, when bidding us farewell, hoped we would all meet again.
“Undoubtedly,” Saxe. replied, “undoubtedly we’ll all meet again, but
perhaps not for years. All depends upon the atmosphere—ahem! I fear
evaporation of the fluid in the _Propellier’s_ cylinders. Should this
occur we’ll be absent indefinitely. Many contend the earth’s summit is
located at 90 degrees,” continued Saxe., in his most argumentive manner,
“this is preposterous, but were it so that portion of the globe would
have been explored long ago. The earth’s summit is at 100 degrees. I
state this as a fact, and the difficulties I expect to encounter will be
beyond the ninetieth degree. The atmosphere will be so compressed as to
cause either an explosion of the fluid in the tanks, or gradual
evaporation. For either calamity I am altogether unprepared, and
consequently figure on the homeward journey to be one of acute hardship,
and consuming an indefinite period. But shadows exist only where there’s
brightness. At any rate we have provisions for seven years, and, Captain
Norris, I’ll guarantee that in less time we’ll reach the Pole, and
return to our homes, each busily engaged upon a book of ‘How I
Discovered the North Pole.’”

Norris smiled, but avoided remarks, and shook hands all around; then I
took him aside and intrusted him with a letter for old Middleton. I
advised Middleton, though arrangements were waterproof, to personally
attend to it that ships sailed north every year to meet us. (I knew he
would, and spare no expense), and most humbly I begged pardon for
breaking my word to him. I could give no excuse except the unknown polar
regions fascinated me, and, against reason, at the last moment I joined
the expedition. Years later I learned that Middleton, when he received
the letter, was thrown into such a state of alarm and anxiety, that he
collapsed and took to his bed with a serious illness from which he
recovered with great difficulty. I am satisfied Middleton’s affection
for me was disinterested.

Captain Norris, also his men, were superstitious, and declared they
would not invite ill-luck by seeing us off; but the Esquimaux clamored
about us, loading us with gifts. One gave Saxe. a keg of oil, which he
stored away with great care; what he wanted with that oil was a mystery.
Skins, furs were forced upon us, strings of fresh fish, and a great
quantity of dried or frozen fish packed together like staves of a barrel
was presented to me. We were each presented with a canoe, with the
information that we would need them. Saxe. repaid this kindness with
quantities of beads and imitation jewelry, and I flung a little fortune
among the natives.

Norris saluted with four guns. The _Propellier_ responded with a shrill
blast from her siren as we sped out among the snow hills which soon hid
all our friends from view. At last we were really started upon our long
journey of marvelous adventure.

We traveled north along the coast of Greenland. The _Propellier_ acted
well, the feeler did splendid work, warning us of breaks or gaps in the
ice by vibrating and resounding with hollow noise; the great arc-light
cast a radiance of three hundred yards, and we traveled full speed night
and day. Each were initiated into the mysteries of the engine room, and
took turns in steering the machine. Saunders, however, was exempt from
these duties, he permitted nothing to interfere with the work he’d
mapped out for himself. He alone was spared from what is called
snow-blindness; with his exception we were all decorated with great blue
goggles. I was the first to succumb to the glaring whiteness of the
snow. The continual sameness of arctic landscape became very tiresome.
As far as the eye reached were vast plains of ice and snow, a blinding
whiteness in soft, downy hollows and smooth mounds, the earth shrouded
in a widening sheet of white velvet; and vividly in the distance with a
blue, misty veil, shielding their peaks, was the circular range of ice
mountains, that has been declared naught but an optical illusion. All
polar explorers have viewed these strange mountains, whose distance is
beyond speculation, having always that illusive appearance even at the
highest altitudes. Scientists claim this mystic range to be a reflection
cast by the heavy, frozen atmosphere. Sheldon was the only one with time
to argue about the matter, he agreed with me the illusive range was a
solid fact all right, but he went further, declaring they were not polar
mountains, and that his great body of fresh water rested——etc. When he
reached this stage in his argument my interest flagged. Sheldon and his
body of water became very tedious sometimes.

Saxe. was occupied entirely with the _Propellier_, and Saunders
altogether absorbed making atmospheric observations. These observations
he takes every seven hours, making us lose much valuable time, and
rousing Saxe. to caustic remarks; he puts in the rest of the time
studying a chart of the heavens and peering at the stars.

Our first mishap occurred at 74–5° north latitude. The _Propellier_ was
speeding, when suddenly the feeler vibrated, then followed a jarring,
crushing sound, and the _Propellier_ plunged into a thin layer of ice
and snow, and was washed by the swiftly flowing black waters underneath.
At the first vibration Saxe. quickly shut off the current, then with
considerable difficulty backed the _Propellier_ from her perilous
position. We had plunged into a parting or lane, fifteen feet wide and
three miles long, concealed by new snow that had iced on the surface,
and were obliged to make a wide detour.

Saunders reported a faint aurora borealis in the northeast.

It turned out to be the moon’s rays piercing a mackerel-sky. It was a
beautiful sight. White shining clouds with antlers branching in long,
waving ribbons crimped like blond, which scintillated in diffused
patches on the horizon. As we watched the moon sailed high, dimming and
scattering the shimmering radiance.

We had the laugh on Saunders, who stubbornly insisted the bright light
was a faint aurora. As the heavens are one continual phenomenon, always
inspiring mortal with awe, and considering that Saunders knew more of
the heavens than any of us, I had a secret belief he might possibly be
correct, particularly as we witnessed this phenomenon time after time
when there was no moon. The same shining, white clouds, with rippling
antlers parting in flaming rays, which stretched across the sky in a
broad, throbbing arch, varying in tints of a yellowish, bluish, milky
white; all cold, chilly colors, but beautiful.

Saxe. became bold over the successful traveling of his machine, and
announced it his belief that we would reach the Pole in a month. But
difficulties commenced when we reached 78 degrees north latitude,
progress became slow and we were obliged to travel inland to avoid the
high winds which threw the snow into insurmountable mounds, forming
alleyways and embankments, and all the time from the north came that
ominous warning boom as the ice packed and screwed together. “The
Inevitable,” as Saxe. called it, and that which has confronted all polar
explorers over the Greenland route, happened at 79 degrees.

Further travel was blocked by a chain of small ice hills, so closely
packed together they formed a wall, seemingly an impenetrable blockade,
extending as far as the sight reached. For several weeks we traveled in
an easterly direction, then dared the jagged opening in the shifting
chain, which revealed a veritable world of peaks, at sight of which
Sheldon blurted out:

“It can’t be done, Saxe., old boy!”

But the _Propellier_ was invented to crush all obstacles, and Saxe.
grimly, cautiously steered through the icy gate. He found it very
difficult to operate the engine in this terrible mountainous district.
We were upon the frozen surface of the sea, whose waves seemingly had
iced as they formed into the swell. We realized danger, but there was no
turning back; through extreme caution we were spared disaster. Saxe.
never left his post in the little engine car, he refused aid, we were
not expert enough for the situation.

Weeks were consumed in passing over this hilly waste, but hundreds of
miles were traversed, then gradually the ice peaks reared farther apart,
juts, waves, smoothened; and we finally ploughed into a far-reaching
plain of snow, with the distant horizon cut by the familiar, illusive
range of mountains capped with their azure veil. We had reached 87
degrees, and were miles from our original course, but steadily advancing
toward the Pole.

“87–5° north latitude, and 175–6° east longitude,” rattled off Saunders.
The _Propellier_ was put at full speed, but soon slackened as we
continually encountered lanes concealed by soft, new snow. So frequent
did these partings become the machine was forced to a zigzag course. It
took half a day to make two miles, and when we halted the situation was
alarming. The ice was shallow and breaks continual, having the
appearance of lakes or rivers, the black, sullen water rippled and
flowed with a swift undercurrent. Some of the lanes measured thirty feet
in width, and one reached 700 yards in length. We agreed the danger was
about equal in turning back or pushing forward; we had nothing to gain
in turning back.

Sheldon was nonplussed. He could not account for the swiftly flowing
surface streams at 88 degrees. He finally ventured they were not breaks
in the ice, but freshets coursing from the north, ploughing their own
avenues, and creating one of the phenomenons of the polar sphere.
Saunders snickered, but Saxe. looked worried.

“A thaw somewhere,” he muttered.

But he was wrong; the cold was intense, and were it not for our superb
heating apparatus, the pipes extending throughout the cars, we would
have been compelled to turn back; nothing human could live in such
temperature. Gradually we dashed free of the freshet bound region and
traveled swiftly over a smooth, wide plain without rut or ripple, huge
floes of ice packed and screwed together till seemingly one vast floe
extended over the whole of this drear unknown continent, and always the
same distance away was the blue mystic range of mountains. I wondered if
we would ever reach them.

We were making splendid time, gaining on that lost in the mountainous
and lake district, yet Saxe. appeared troubled.

“I fear a storm,” he told me. “We cannot escape them now, we are nearing
the summit.”

That night a strange light illuminated the sky.

“An aurora!” shouted Saunders.

Undoubtedly it was, but the beauties of the aurora had paled upon us,
yet this night the flaming, brilliant tinted sky held our attention.
Awe-inspiring was the vast arch of fire, crown formed, spiked with
quivering streamers. The fiery crown varied not in shade, but seemed to
burn with deeper intensity as a dull, ominous red clouded some of its
brightness. The quivering streamers oscillated with wonderful tints,
making each seem as though studded with rare gems. The blood-red ruby
glowed upon us, then paled to the amethyst’s heliotrope, which faded
before the rush of emerald, flooding the sky, and the baleful topaz
streaked the delicate green as the flaming arch, edged with the
penetrating turquoise, quivered and vibrated with darts and flashes. As
we watched the gaudy spectacle it seemed to dull, darken, and grow
heavier as though gifted with substance, then with indescribable majesty
slowly descended to the earth. The heat became intense, the atmosphere
stifling. We raised the windows, but quickly closed them, the car filled
with a sulphurous air which started us to coughing and sneezing. We
glanced at each other silent, dismayed; Saxe., paled and trembling, sank
to a seat.

“The _Propellier_ will explode! nothing is proof against this!” he
cried.

“We are witnessing,” said Saunders, in reassuring tones, “a phenomenon
of the heavens, a combination of electrical forces which will soon
disperse and rage in various portions of the globe. It cannot harm us
should it descend, as its power, force, will have evaporated. This
portion of the globe upon which we are now traveling is——er—hum——”

“God in heaven!” yelled Saxe. “Look, boys, we’re done for!”

Saxe., the mainspring of the party, to our amazement, was overcome with
terror.

“Come,” he cried, retreating with frantic haste, “come, or we’ll perish!
The _Propellier_ is going to burst!”

We stampeded to the rear car and clustered around the window to gaze at
that which had so roused Saxe.’s terror, while he sank in a heap,
mopping his brow.

The wide-spreading arch of fire suddenly parted with a great blast of
thunder, which rolled and revolved over our heads with terrific crash,
then passed on toward the south. What chained our attention was the
appearance of a great milk-white cloud that sailed through the parted
arch, submerging it. A cloud, funnel shaped, of milky, opal tints, whose
throbbing, fiery heart burned vividly beneath the thin, shell covering.
It gained in size and weight as it advanced, and gradually losing
flakiness became a dull, ominous purple, rapidly deepening to black,
then with appalling suddenness it was upon us.

We were among the racing clouds, tossed and scattered by the roaring
gale. Thunder boomed, and weird, lightning flashes pierced our car, then
the hurricane struck us squarely, lifting, overturning the car, and we
were buried beneath the wreck. I was stunned, but a slight scalp wound
which bled profusely relieved me greatly. The heat was suffocating, my
clothing became saturated with perspiration streaming from every pore of
my body.

Saxe. was the first to recover and extricated himself from the storage
and debris, unhurt but badly scratched, and once more the energetic,
pushing old boy we were familiar with.

“The worst is over,” he bawled, “and the _Propellier_ didn’t bust; but
snow is falling in clouds—boys, brace up, or we’ll be buried alive!”

Sheldon and Saunders squirmed lively after this. We forced our way out
of the overturned car and sank waist deep in soft, new snow, which
prevented the gale carrying us away. The _Propellier_ and adjoining cars
were not damaged, the snow having blown up against, and piled high,
protecting them almost entirely, but the wind now carried the snow over
and down the sides, causing Saxe. to shout: “Hustle, boys, hustle! we’ll
be buried alive!”

The heaters were filled and fires started; in a short time the waste
pipes were letting off streams of steam. We shoveled a bank nearly
twelve feet high, which protected us some from the wind, but it flung
the snow upon us faster than we could work, and from steam to shovel we
labored for our lives against odds for eight long, weary hours. But the
storm spent itself, ceased as suddenly as it came, calmed beneath the
freezing temperature that descended. The snow iced, our labor was over
and we sought shelter, food and rest.

Saunders advised early departure, and two hours later we started. The
_Propellier_ made a rush up the steep embankment; midway she seemed to
lose speed, but suddenly cleared the remaining distance at a bound. The
dense atmosphere had lifted and plain upon plain of snow with
wind-tossed mounds and hills met our vision, and over it all a crescent
moon glistened mystically. The search-light flared and with a shrill
blast we speeded northward. Midnight we had reached and traveled beyond
the altitude scientists claim the earth’s pivot is located. Towards
morning a heavy mist fell upon us, a dark, silent, deadly mist, which
sent a chill to our bones. I could not shake off the dull feeling of
dread that came over me. The _Propellier_ glided smoothly, swiftly
onward, taking us farther into this horrible death-land. The fear that
tugged at my heart shamed me to silence. I glanced furtively at my three
companions, who were unusually still, and whose faces blanched beneath
my scrutiny. Then Saxe. suddenly halted the _Propellier_, and addressed
us.

“Boys,” he said, “we have stood by one another, we are not cowards, but
life is life, and the Pole be damned! We have penetrated farther north
than man ever dared, we do not fear, but—others felt the same way in
much lower altitudes and stampeded to civilization with tales of
blizzards, blockades, and the impossibility of life beyond a certain
degree. There are unknown dangers ahead, and death sometimes is very
slow, and to struggle and dare and have it all end in oblivion, I think
senseless. The earth’s summit is at 100 degrees. We have entered the
mystic circle—just a league to discovery—the _Propellier_ at full speed
could dash through in a few minutes. We will suffer—an awful
experience—a terrible risk; and, as I said before, boys, life is life. I
call the expedition off; we will return.”

He glanced wistfully at me, but I avoided his eyes. The passion for the
myth had for the time evaporated. After all, life is worth the living,
the world is full of beauty and harmony if we choose to see it. I fully
realized the hazardous undertaking I had ventured upon, and—God in
heaven!—I may never return.

Saxe. was turning back through anxiety for his friends; were he alone he
would crush the dread he imagined upon him and push ahead. He forgot the
fanaticism of his comrades. Truly they were three of a kind. Saunders
sprang forward and caught Saxe.’s arm.

“Correct! correct!” he cried, “we’re not cowards! Why are you turning
back? The dread upon us is the dread of nature, the all-pervading fear
of first venture, which the will overcomes or we’d still be apes.
Determination invites progress, fear checks it; all dread the Unknown.
Now, up to 98 or 100 degrees I can state positively what we’ll
encounter. We’ve completely traversed the frozen polar sea, from now on
it’s surface ice and melting snow slushing over brown rocks or earth. At
100 degrees we view the most uncanny scenery man ever gazed upon. Great
mountains and steep, smooth cliffs, of petrification; deep, gloomy,
barren valleys, horrible in stillness; and lightening up this dead,
petrified portion of the globe, is the star, the star I will brave death
to see. The foe we have to conquer is atmosphere, science may help, but
there is no atmosphere. In advancing we flirt with Death, who’ll welcome
us with dreadful grandeur, but a bold flirtation does not always end
disastrously; we can view the all-mighty magnet, then depart.”

“Oh, don’t pay any attention to him,” interposed Sheldon, “he blunders
constantly. If I believed in him I’d favor turning back. For days we’ve
argued this matter; he’s merely expressed his views—not facts. I agree
with him regarding the petrification of the earth surrounding the Pole,
the cold is so intense petrification is natural, but the lack of
atmosphere—laughable. From the high altitude undoubtedly we’ll suffer,
experiencing palpitation, vertigo, and other inconveniences, including a
tantalizing thirst. Then again, boys, nature being freakish, we may
experience none of these ills, but enjoy the wild, weird scenery of the
earth’s summit. We’ll view the blue Reflection Alps, and drink
sparkling, crystal water, from the reservoir of the earth. Onward!
Saxe., onward! but—should the _Propellier_ cease to work we’re dead
men.”

I listened to the absurd reasoning of my three esteemed friends,
realizing I had three fanatics to deal with. Lacking persuasive ability
I had to rely upon common sense and plain English to point out the folly
of advancing. I had the power to command the expedition off and rose to
better emphasize my words, when suddenly the doubts and nervous
restlessness calmed in a deep, delicious languor, which overpowered and
deadened reason. I made a feeble effort to regain my flying senses, but
the soft, warm zephyr, heavy with an unknown, magnetic perfume, drugged
my will. In that instant I revelled in dreams, a maze of love ecstasy,
my pulse quivered and tingled with delight. I was blind to all danger,
prudence vanished before impetuous recklessness and desire. I sank to my
seat. “Onward!” I cried hoarsely, with wildly beating heart. “Forward!
Saxe., forward!” And I, too, was a fanatic.



                              CHAPTER VII.


The following day we reached 95 degrees, experiencing no discomfort. I
awoke from a nap and found the _Propellier_ at a standstill, my three
interesting friends crowded at the window, gazing out with the liveliest
curiosity. I joined them and was astonished to see a strange, large
plant, resembling a cactus, about five feet high, with greenish, putrid
looking veins tracing through dull, brown leaves—a plant growing wild,
vigorous, amidst a vast snow plain! I made for the door, so did Sheldon.
As the first breath of air struck me it cut through my lungs like a
knife, so intense was the cold, but after I suffered no inconvenience;
in fact, the atmosphere was exhilarating, though close and thick, a
misty twilight. I approached the odd-looking plant, it was icy to the
touch, soft and pulpy like liver, with a sticky, moist surface. Saxe.,
Sheldon and Saunders hurried up, calling the plant various Latin names,
to all of which it refused to answer. Then Saxe. took out his knife and
cut one of the broad, thick leaves neatly down the middle. A
reddish-brown fluid spattered the snow, emitting such a stench that
Saxe. dropped that portion he held and the three learned ones bolted for
the car.

I watched with interest the cut leaf shriveling tip, then placed the
severed portion to the cut, making it fit exactly. At once a thin film
formed over the parting, which gradually thickened into a fine skin and
the shriveled leaf became soft and pulpy again with nothing but a faint
line to show where the wound had been. Something about the plant
nauseated me and I hastily returned to the car to find my three friends
in a noisy discussion about it. Saxe. declared it was flesh, not
vegetable. Saunders was positive it was a mineral product, and Sheldon
frankly told them both they were asses; the plant was vegetable, how
could it be anything else?

I never joined in their discussions, it was impossible to convince them
of anything. They generally yelled like mad for a few minutes, then
each, sure of his superior knowledge of all things, would gradually
simmer down and draw out of the argument. And as usual Saxe. rose with
that familiar know-it-all-air, and started the _Propellier_ going.
Sheldon and Saunders continued the debate for hours, in fact, till the
plants became so thick and common Sheldon called time.

We seemed to be passing through a forest of brown rubber trees, some
attaining a growth of ten feet, whose branches bruised against the car
windows, staining them with their foul smelling fluid. The snow was
thinning to slush and we jolted fearfully over the rocky, uneven road,
but not till we had passed the forest of unearthly plants would Saxe.
halt to remove the runners and fit the wheels. When we emerged from the
nightmare thicket a rocky territory stretched wide before us, snow and
ice traveling were at an end; our course appeared to be over the lava
bed of a monster crater.

“I was correct!” shouted Saunders and Sheldon simultaneously, while they
glared at each other. “I was positive when we reached the summit we
would discover the outlet of all equatorial eruptions. We travel upon
frozen lava beds, and——”

“Later on,” Saxe. cried impatiently; “we have work to do now.”

A few minutes later, muffled to the eyes, we trooped out into an
atmosphere of stifling cold (no other expression for it) to remove the
runners. Frequently I was seized with vertigo, but kept quiet as nobody
else complained.

Saunders informed us we had reached 97 degrees north latitude. Three
more degrees and we have discovered the Pole.

Saxe. worked, but at the same time watched us keenly, bawling
instructions, then wasted a whole hour carefully inspecting our work.

“Can’t afford accidents,” he explained, “will submit only to the
unavoidable;” and wheel after wheel was examined.

We watched him fooling away the time and amused ourselves cutting jokes
at his expense, but he was entirely oblivious. Suddenly we were startled
by the deep baying of hounds.

“Dogs!” gasped Saxe., “sounds like dogs!”

Saunders streaked it for the car, bawling to us to follow.

Sheldon suggested it might be the Relief Party, at the same time
striding mightily for safety. Saxe. in his hurry tumbled over himself,
and I, horrified, heavy man as he was, picked him up as though he were a
child and hurried with him to the car, securing the door just in time.
The great beasts rushed towards us and sprang upon either side of the
_Propellier_, which shook beneath their weight. Saxe. turned on the
siren, the monsters yelled and snapped at the steel, but held on,
differing from other animals we had encountered, which, now that I
mention the matter, are far from numerous despite the contrary
exaggerations written by some arctic tourists. But the few roving
animals we did meet renounced all curiosity at the first blast of the
siren, which Saxe. now kept going at one continual ear-splitting shriek
till the huge beasts finally dropped off and made for the car. What
magnificent animals they were, certainly resembling dogs, but assuredly
not dogs. Their monstrous bodies were covered with long, thick, white
fur, and they dragged great plume-like tails. The immense head was
ornamented with ridiculously small, pointed ears, with short, blunt
horns growing behind. The larger animal sprang at the window from which
we looked and broke it with his horns. He thrust in his great head; how
his eyes glared and what awful fangs, and how he snapped and snarled,
and strained and worked to lift his great bulk. Saxe. struck him with a
piece of iron; with a howl he fell back, tumbling to the ground. I
hurriedly took from the shelf two large fish that had been pounded to
tenderness and flung them to the enraged beasts. Each grabbed a
fish—what transformation! They sat on their haunches and regarded us
with gratitude—it was gratitude—purely an animal trait.

Sheldon forgot prudence and leaned far out of the window, calling: “Poor
fellow!” and “Good dog!” With the fish secure in their teeth they jumped
about delighted, wagged their bushy tails, and trotted off contentedly
towards the south.

“They were desperate with hunger,” I remarked.

“They were not,” Saxe. snapped, “they looked well fed, were fat. They
feed upon those plants we’ve just passed, which are flesh, not
vegetable. If those dogs, or whatever they are, had been hungry they
would have devoured the fish at once.”

“If they were not hungry why did they come after us so fiercely?” I
asked.

“In our country,” Saxe. responded, “we produce every product under the
sun, yet we are continually importing foreign stuffs.”

This ended the discussion. When he thought it prudent, Saxe. ventured
out to finish his interrupted inspection of our work and travel was not
resumed till he was thoroughly satisfied.

“Hope we don’t run across any more queer animals,” he remarked to nobody
in particular.

“We won’t,” Saunders replied, “we are too far up to discover anything
but petrification and the Pole.”

“We are traveling upon lava beds,” Saxe. informed us, “and I believe we
are in the pit of a huge crater—what misfortune if it should come to
sudden eruption!”

“Ah, bosh!” sassed Saunders, “crater be blowed! we’re traveling upon
rocks, petrified earth.”

“Nonsense!” bawled Saxe.

“Order, order, boys!” called Sheldon from the tanks where he was brewing
quarts of coffee. “In case of necessity,” he murmured.

We were prepared for any emergency, the airpipes were stocked and
heaters in good working order. I was busy putting in a new pane of glass
in the damaged window, when I heard Saxe. say he saw cliffs ahead and
heard a roaring sound. I heard a roaring sound also, but it was rush of
blood to the head and I was attacked with a violent hemorrhage. But I
soon recovered under Sheldon’s excellent treatment, which was smoking
hot coffee. My three comrades suffered intensely from nausea, but each
remained at his post. Saxe. guiding the _Propellier_, Saunders ever
alert for his star, and Sheldon at the coffee stand serving out regular
instalments, with the encouraging words: “It’s the best and only
stimulant we can take.”

Though the air valves were opened wide, creating a slight draught, it
seemed heavy with drugs. Drowsiness was overpowering, and though sleep
meant death the eye-ball ached with weariness, yet we managed to keep
each other awake, but eventually endured a siege of suffocation that was
agonizing in the futile attempt to take a long breath, the gurgling
effort leaving a heavy, suppressed pain in the lungs. We were tortured
with every stage of suffocation except the last one—death. There was a
thin streak of life in the atmosphere. It took an hour to pass the
danger zone, yet not once did we think of turning back.

“Forward! forward!” always was the cry.

“We’re too expert, it’s got to be stronger to swamp us,” Saxe. declared,
and Sheldon has since expressed great faith in “Determination, grim
determination.” And during the trying time, possibly for the
encouragement of everybody, including themselves, both aired very grand,
lofty ideas about “will-vitality,” etc. I listened admiringly, but
gradually lost interest, and in spite of heroic efforts succumbed to a
stupor of weariness. I was dulled, not unconscious, and distinctly saw
Saxe., for all his high-faluting “will-vitality,” turn livid as he slid
from his seat. He was gasping, and limply moved his arms for assistance.
For the life of me I could not move, seemed tied as in a nightmare.
Sheldon flung the doors and windows wide, then rushed to Saxe.’s
assistance, who had fainted for the first time in his life. The icy
blast that swept through the car brushed the cobwebs from my brain and
thoroughly chilled the treacherous lethargy from us all. But it took
some time to recover from that “high air pressure,” and we had
considerable trouble with Saxe., who took to his bunk.

Saunders’s predictions were correct, only reversed. He declared the
atmosphere of the unknown circle to be charged with deadly gases (no
atmosphere), but up to the danger line we would encounter brisk, icy
winds. For upward of an hour we faced the “no atmosphere” problem, but
within the Pole circle brisk, icy breezes blew life to us—no one dared
mention the fact to Saunders.

Sheldon served around hot, fragrant coffee, and suggested lunch. When
the meal was ready Saxe. had sufficiently recovered to join us and felt
so invigorated after that he proposed we venture out and prospect. We
advised against it, of course, but Saxe. was known never to take advice,
and we might as well talk to the _Propellier_.

We discovered a broad plain stretching east to west to an infinite
distance, but straight ahead the road continued as though leveled from
the side of the mountains. Upon one side huge cliffs towered and upon
the other deep, unfathomable chasms. The boulders were perpendicular and
of glassy smoothness. A terrific gale was blowing, dark clouds scurried
across the sky with occasional breaks, letting a star gleam through, and
once a wide space cleared and the moon shone full, lighting up the
strange, weird, beautiful scenery.

“If this is the dead portion of the earth, then death is certainly
grand, sublime,” remarked Sheldon.

“According to the compass,” interrupted Saxe., whose mind apparently was
not upon the scenery, “we must travel straight ahead, and that narrow
road in front is the route. I judge it’s about fifteen feet wide,” he
continued, “inclines sharply, curving into the cliffs down there. We
must know what’s around that bend before we go splurging with the
machine.”

We started down the narrow road, but the cutting ice wind chilled us to
the heart and we huddled together with a distinct desire to avoid
moving. “We’ll petrify if we remain stationary,” warned Saunders, “keep
moving. But it’s not as frigid as it should be at this altitude. It’s
the atmosphere and earth——”

Saxe. grunted and rushed ahead; we quickly followed, glad of anything to
squelch Saunders, who once started upon his hobby was good for days. His
language was eloquent, his subject always learned and instructive, and
in a nice, warm room, we could have all gone comfortably to sleep, but
in an atmosphere of ice, with the Pole almost in sight.... We reached
the perilous bend in the road, it was engulfed in deep, black shadows,
cast by cliffs above, but farther on re-appeared, stretching along the
level for miles and miles, curving, undulating, like a gigantic serpent,
and gleaming like silver in the strange light, neither night nor day.

“It was once the bed of a river,” remarked Sheldon, who, like Saunders,
was daft on his hobby.

“Nonsense!” retorted Saxe., “it’s the main artery of a burnt-out
volcano.”

“Volcano in the frigid zone!” laughed Sheldon.

We returned to the _Propellier_, tired out and panting heavily, the
exertion made us perspire freely after a few seconds’ rest. Saxe. was
anxious to push forward at once. We voted consent. He flared the
search-light upon the road and the _Propellier_ cautiously started down
the incline. Up hill and down into deep, black hollows, we sped like the
wind and very little level was there to this riverbed, artery, or
whatever it was. Ever to our right were smooth, high cliffs, and to the
left unfathomable mist shrouded valleys. The wild, uncanny scenery,
magnetic in its monstrous, powerful unreality, chained the attention.
Granite, granite, mighty boulders reared to stupendous height, casting
shadows that stretched to the impenetrable, blue mist, shielding
mysterious chasms. Vegetation? God! Vegetation in this dreadful place
with its dull, horrible, mucky atmosphere? It was like a nightmare,
awe-inspiring, firing the imagination.

Dread silenced us, an intangible fear made our hearts flutter, and we
looked forward at any moment to what? It seemed we were among the
damned. Unmerciful, unjust, is the punishment inflicted upon the erring,
condemned to wander forever aimlessly alone in this terrible
shadow-land. It is hell—if there is a hell.

Sheldon came and sat beside me.

“Going at a pretty good rate,” he said. “Not far from the Pole. Saunders
informs me we’re at 99 degrees north latitude with some figuring to the
west and some minutes thrown in for luck. Great chap Saunders! Saxe. is
reckless to be rid of this place, the car is rocking enough to cause
sickness, and not far off the road curves sharply. Wonder if he intends
to risk it and go ahead.”

“Good heavens! Sheldon,” I gasped, “suppose the road ends there!”

“No, it doesn’t,” he quickly assured me, “I can see it farther on, but
it widens and changes altogether, seems to wind down into the valley. We
will certainly reach the Pole, very soon—then what?”

“And then what?” I repeated.

“Saxe. says Asia is on the other side. He intends to make the return
trip through Asia, declares he wouldn’t pass this way again for
millions. And say, Sally,” he whispered confidentially, “we might as
well come out in the open and state what we came up here for. None of us
have been fooled as to the other’s intentions and secretly worked in
search of the object, to wit: _The other side of the earth_. Saxe. raves
of the Pole, but did not work years upon the _Propellier_ merely to
travel to the highest northern altitude with it. Saunders pretends to be
daft about his star, yet every astronomer in the world is aware of the
existence of that star. It is not the star he wishes to discover, but
that portion of the world it sparkles upon. And the great reservoir of
fresh water is certainly not bubbling in the polar zone. But you, Sally,
you have deceived no one. Boy, you mutter continually in your sleep and
the passionate murmurs could never be roused by a star, a country, or a
man. An exquisite vision, an alluring phantom has fired you—a woman, by
Jove!” He nudged me. “The woman on the other side of the globe. We know
all about it. That’s why you joined the expedition and fooled poor old
Middleton, at the last.”

I gasped. Chuckling and winking, he left me. And my secret had been
known all along, commented upon, and undoubtedly they joshed me among
themselves. I felt odd for the second, then laughed the silliness away.
Sheldon attempted to astonish Saxe. and Saunders as he had me, but they
were ready for him and foreclosed. Then we all came “out in the open,”
and had an eager consultation about the undiscovered country we expected
to find. Each had theories which of course were different and superior
to the other’s, but upon one point we all agreed—there was another side
to this globe, figuratively speaking, a new world.

Columbus believed the “land where the sun set” to be a continuation of
Asia, a new continent did not occur to him. We are more bigoted than
people of those days. Superficial knowledge and science declares the
earth orange shaped, divided into two hemispheres, with a handful of
islands to cap the dejeuner. This vast globe never was and never will be
fully explored. There are continents upon continents, teeming with
civilization, I believe, vastly superior to our own with one
exception—their world, like ours, does not extend any farther than their
knowledge, otherwise they would have discovered us.

As we neared the sharp curve in the road Saxe. slackened speed and
cautiously steered around it into a steep, narrow lane, partially
obscured by elongated shadows. The search-light revealed the road
widening farther on, then the cliffs ended abruptly and we speeded over
a level, low country, one of those valleys that seemed so mysterious. A
strong wind came up and whistled around the car, and upon it was borne
the roar and boom of some far distant ocean. We dashed through the
valley which was filled with death-like odors, up a steep mountain path,
and were once more on the old familiar road, banked with cliff and
precipice. Saxe. vowed we traveled in a circle, but the atmosphere
suddenly cleared, the heavy mists floated upwards, and the black chasms
we took for valleys were but a continuation of cliffs and ceaseless
hills backed with a dismal vista of rugged plains, fringed by a lofty
range of black mountains capped with a strange, soft glow.

“We are nearing the summit,” Saxe. told us; “if the road continues like
this we should reach it in an hour.”

We reached the North Pole in less than an hour. The road we had followed
so faithfully gradually zigzagged to the summit of a precipitous
mountain, then parted abruptly at the sharp lip of a deep, unfathomable
pit. The view was magnificent, grand, diabolical, and in the strange
half light fantastic shadows seemed to dance and beckon. Our route
gleamed like a silver thread as it widened through the valley beneath to
be submerged in far distant ice and snow fields. And down in the deep,
black mountain pit, surrounded by high walls of shining petrification,
was the ocean, whose roar had so puzzled us. An ocean? A wide pool of
dark, glassy substance, without ripple or disturbance, yet the roar
blared, deafening, like a great horn.

“Any amount,” said Sheldon, “that water down there is hot.”

“Won’t take your bet,” Saxe. answered, “but it’s hot all right, it’s
lava—don’t care to investigate. But, gentlemen,” he suddenly exclaimed,
“gentlemen, gentlemen, we have discovered the Pole!”

We gave three rousing cheers; the echo was like a thousand voices.

Saunders, after taking observations, told us we had reached 100 degrees
north latitude. Time, 5.20 A. M.

“Onward!” cried Saxe.

But Sheldon called our attention to the sudden disturbance in the black
waters below. Even as he spoke we heard a sizzling, bubbling sound, and
a great column of water shot upward hundreds of feet, falling with
tremendous roar; then another column mightier than the first rolled
upward, while the mountain quaked to the detonation.

“Onward!” shouted Saxe.

The _Propellier_ shot down the side of that quivering mountain like a
rocket. Looking back I saw column after column of fiery, steaming
substance boil upward in rapid succession. With lightning speed we got
out of the vicinity of that strange pool with its marvelous geyser-like
action, and did not slacken up till we were miles away; then—glory be to
glory! we had reached the North Pole, and passed it.



                             CHAPTER VIII.


Saxe. vehemently declared he would perish before traveling that route
again.

“We would never find it,” Saunders interrupted. “The crater is in
constant eruption, heaving new mountains, leveling new valleys, and
utterly obliterating the monster fissures we traveled upon. I knew of
the danger, but we were determined to reach the Pole. A burnt-out
volcano, Saxe.! Ye gods, that we escaped is miraculous! Literally, we
traveled over an ocean of fire, an egg-shell between. Had faith in the
_Propellier’s_ speed, but—I say, boys, look back at the earth’s summit!”
It looked like a monstrous explosion, great masses of rock flying in all
directions, while column after column of fire belched to the sky, then
poured in torrents down the mountain side, a flood of boiling, seething
lava. We were miles from the volcano, but the fiery sea seemed spreading
with appalling rapidity, and Saxe. kept the _Propellier_ at high speed
till the great barren mountains, and awful chasms of the mighty polar
volcano, were dimly outlined in the distance, and upon a broad level
plain we sped to wide fields of virgin snow. Late in the afternoon we
halted long enough for Saunders to take observations. He reported the
temperature fallen two degrees, and wanted to know if we had noticed it.
Saxe., who had a vivid imagination, began a speech about the sudden
vigor he experienced, but Saunders called our attention to the sky.

“The most remarkable phenomenon man ever witnessed!” he exclaimed.

The filmy gray clouds parted, giving us a flash of brilliant, blue sky.
A dull-red ball glided into view, casting a roseate glow with long
streamers of penetrating light which fell upon us, sending a warmth
through our bodies we had not felt for months; then the clouds rolled
together, but far in the distance the great red ball blazed; it flew
downward, bounded and bounced over mountain and plain, disappearing, to
re-appear, remained stationary an instant, then swinging into space with
a flash it bounded out of sight. The phenomenon lasted seven minutes.
“It is the Sun,” Saunders explained, “and touches this point once a
month.”

Sheldon aired his doubts of course, and suggested the “wonderful sun-lit
appearance” merely a reflection or another of Saunders’s fake auroras.
But he (Sheldon) honestly believed this “atmospheric exhibition” a deep,
Simon-pure aurora at last. Then the argument was on which lasted for
hours, and though they were really fond of each other, the energy
displayed for flinging out insults without coming to blows was about as
wonderful as the Sun visiting the polar regions once a month.

During the night we escaped from the shadowy quarry-land, and light as a
bird skimmed over the old, familiar plains of ice and snow.

Saxe. began making calculations; we never interfered with him, he
delighted in figuring out just how long it would take the _Propellier_
to cover this or that distance, and as his calculations always went
wrong we didn’t bother him. Sheldon and Saunders suddenly became very
busy and pre-occupied, and for no particular reason we all grew much
elated and nervous with energy. Saunders said it was the atmosphere, and
the farther we advanced in the vigor-producing air the livelier we would
become. We certainly were very jubilant and chatted in excited
consultation over the great progress made during that week, when a
sudden sharp, whizzing sound, coming from the _Propellier_ warned us of
disaster. The machine stopped with a jerk, the cars banged together and
we were thrown from our feet, then with a dying spurt the doomed
_Propellier_ bounded forward. In panic we bolted from the car, but did
not escape entirely, though we suffered little injury. The four of us
were hurled high in the air by the explosion; one, two, three, like
cannonading, then all was quiet, and Saxe.’s life-work, his brilliant
invention, was destroyed. Destruction was complete.

Saxe. ran around the wreck wringing his hands, muttering incoherently.
The top of the _Propellier_ was blown clean away, the cylinders torn
wide open, and the diamond prod had shot up in the air with such force
that apparently it never came down again. We were unable to find it.
Both cars were overturned, one entirely wrecked, but the other was
hardly damaged and was to be our sole future conveyance.

We tried to be cheerful, but Saxe. took it hard and considerable time
was wasted humoring him; he obstinately believed he could do something
with his wrecked machine. We righted the last remaining car and stored
everything in it that escaped the explosion; then we buried the
_Propellier_, and courageously formed new plans.

It seemed easier and wiser to advance, so the word was: “Forward!” We
hauled the car in pairs, changing every two hours: Saxe. and Saunders,
Sheldon and myself. It would never do to yoke Sheldon and Saunders
together, they would consume all steam in argument.

We traveled under great difficulties, and the outlook was anything but
encouraging. Our heating, cooking apparatus had gone up in the
explosion, and our store of prepared stuffs limited; but we trudged
along with mighty determination.

Grit is as rare as genius, and the foundation of every lofty aspiration;
those possessing the magic power, accomplish all desire, no matter how
wild; but few comprehend, and still less realize, which accounts for a
world overflowing with nondescript.

We suffered terrible hardships, but were spared a repetition of partial
suffocation. A sudden new vigor roused energy, ambition, we could travel
leagues without the slightest fatigue. Even the inevitable blockade,
though formidable, could not weaken our courage.

The noise was deafening as the ice packed and screwed together, layer
upon layer into huge blocks, constantly breaking and shifting, then
piling up again into insurmountable cliffs and peaked, draw-fed
mountains, wedged closely, with occasional gaps or alleyways.

We forced onward, making little headway, some days none at all, and once
to our dismay discovered we were traveling north again. Then disaster
settled upon us. We strayed far from our course and were lost in this
dreary, ice world, wandering for days in a circle.

Almost impenetrable obstacles constantly blocked us; the tedious
climbing, cutting steps in ice boulders, then hoisting and hauling the
car, the descent into dangerous, curving, lane-crevices, with the
constant fear of ice wedging together and crushing us, and once we
barely escaped just clearing the treacherous parting when the cliffs
above caved in, piling high in the opening. The exhausting weeks of
profitless travel harrowed us to desperation, and I cursed my folly in
joining the expedition. We seemed hopelessly, irretrievably lost. With
the exception of myself all suffered some ailment. Saxe. lost two
fingers, the frozen members had to be amputated. Saunders had an attack
of scurvy, which I treated successfully, but could not cure permanently.
I consoled and advised the pair to rest easy. Sheldon thought we could
manage with frequent stoppages, but he soon joined his unhappy comrades,
very seriously hurt. Trudging along, his mind thousands of miles away,
presumably upon the illusive body of water, he calmly stepped in a
rugged new parting, falling his length and breaking his ankle. I set the
bones but Sheldon was laid up two months and would carry a game leg the
rest of his life. He was keen with energy and accomplished much during
his imprisonment. He started a map of the new continent, and out of the
debris collected from the lost _Propellier_ fashioned a queer concern
which he called a stove. Saxe. mixed some mysterious ingredient with the
oil the Esquimaux gave him and produced a fluid that burned, but—stink!
Still it threw out considerable heat and we managed a little cooking.
This comfort lifted some of the gloom, we became more cheerful and
affairs seemed to take a sudden boom, but we wandered five months in
confusion and misery, then at last, through the merest trail, discovered
an outlet from this icy hell. Birds sailed above, monstrous feathered
creatures, shrieking and flapping their huge wings as though to attract
attention. Later, a great flock like an enormous black cloud, sailed
over diagonally in a southerly direction. We decided to follow the
birds, possibly it was death, but in the present predicament, death was
a certainty. Cautiously, persistently we advanced, slowly conquering our
awful difficulties. This encouraged us, and congratulating each other,
we redoubled our efforts, and in three weeks were freed of the hellish
blockade. We yelled, mad with joy, and looked upon the grandest sight
man ever viewed. Before us an interminable expanse of ocean, whose
waters were the clearest, most limpid green, with billows soaring
mountain high, crested with the most delicate tracery of foaming lace,
yet the strength, suction contained in those voluminous waves was
terrifying, magnificent, seeming to increase with monstrous power as
though to engulf the universe. Far to the north was the stifling, frozen
world, and from the vast unit giant floes constantly broke and parted to
be borne swiftly southward by the powerful current. And to the south as
far as the eye reached, this mighty ocean roared and boomed in superb
grandeur and solitude, banked by a level coast of ice and snow. We
followed the coast line. Saxe. indulged in calculations, figuring that
with even travel we should be rid of this “infernal snow region” in
about eight weeks. He informed us this great body of water was a
continuation of the Arctic ocean, and we had been traveling all along
over its petrified, or frozen surface; it was his opinion that at
present we were drifting southward upon a huge floe. Possibly he
believed this, but I have always thought he wished to excite Saunders,
who had been unusually silent of late. Sheldon, wide-awake and
understanding, suggested we had doubled on our tracks and were now
invading an undiscovered portion of Greenland. It occurred to him
(Sheldon) there was something familiar about the scenery.

But Saunders wouldn’t bite, and muttered something to the effect that he
“didn’t give a d——.” Sheldon chuckled knowingly.

We discovered seal and walrus in enormous numbers, great fellows
sprawling over rocks and icy beach; they stared at us in astonishment,
possibly wondering what species we might be. Farther down the coast we
fell in with birds—birds by the million. Undoubtedly they belonged to
the sea-gull family, but resembled storks, with plumage varying from
gray to white. Great birds of solemn mien, they would form in line right
to the water’s edge and stand there upon one leg for hours. We never
found out what they were waiting for, and our approach did not disturb
them. I firmly believe that strong regimental line was formed merely for
slumber. They were easily captured and when cooked and spiced were good
eating, tender, palatable; though the second bird convinced us the first
was sufficient. Their eggs we found in great quantities, in size and
flavor much the same as duck eggs, and vastly superior to the birds. But
we lived principally upon fish. Such fish! Great speckled beauties, with
a flavor—ah!

All are expert in some particular culinary preparation. Saxe. was
magnificent in saute; he could saute anything and you were thankful to
be alive and enjoy. Sheldon was the only man in the world who could
broil a steak properly; and Saunders excelled in salads, and potato
pancakes. I cooked fish. Dropping them alive in boiling oil of
sufficient quantity for them to swim in. It is the way to cook fish.
Spared from my millions I would have been a famous chef.

We traveled inland to avoid the furious coast gale, and sighted a huge
polar bear tracking it for the north. He spied us about the same time,
and after intently watching our calisthenics, veered around and
stealthily followed us, at times disappearing altogether, then
unexpectedly bobbing into view again with the distance between us
shorter. Though we puzzled him he finally wearied of tame sport and
suddenly rushed us, determined to investigate. Saxe., alert, aimed
carefully. He was a prize shot, and it was all over instantly—we enjoyed
some excellent steaks.

We encountered numerous packs of the strange horned animal. They
traveled in flocks like sheep, and had a well-fed appearance, though
what they fed upon was a mystery. They did not attack us, merely
surrounded the car, sniffing curiously. These flocks finally became so
numerous we gave up the rush for the car every time we saw them
approaching and made friends instead. They invariably surrounded us, but
we patted and played with them, receiving responsive barks while they
frantically wagged their great bushy tails. They were dogs, a strange
new species, but dogs. Where did they come from? Where were they going?
and to whom did they belong?

Saxe. advised us to be prepared for any emergency, reminding us our
adventures were just beginning, to expect all manner of wonders—we had
reached the other side of the world.

The wretched, murky atmosphere, damp with treacherous fog, gradually
lifted, and yesterday, for the first time in months, we caught a glimpse
of the sun as it shone fitfully through breaks in the dull, leaden sky.
The wind suddenly became warmer, relaxing the icy chill from our
quivering muscles, and like a sip from the elixir of life, affected us
strangely with something wonderfully new that each experienced, but no
power on earth could force us to acknowledge, yet silently, thankfully,
we realized.

Sheldon and Saunders became very springy and chirrupy, and resumed their
arguments. Saxe.’s stooped frame straightened, his face flushed
healthfully, his eyes brightened. It made me happy to see the old
buoyancy of the trio returning. And this powerful vitality coursing
through my veins roused to flame the smouldering, ardent desires, that
had led me so far astray. My heart beat joyously, vigorous, lusty,
unconsciously I gloried in my erect, muscular physique. I loved—loved
life.

Hope spurred ambition, each because powerfully intent upon his
particular hobby. Saunders was on the alert for the wonderful star that
failed to appear. Sheldon voiced for the thousandth time his opinion
concerning his great body of fresh water, stating positively that it
rested in the hollow of the highest peak in the universe, which peak he
had still to locate, as Saxe. continually reminded him. Saxe., in his
pride, became rather arrogant. He was the only one who had succeeded. He
discovered the North Pole, and the other side of the earth, and
naturally gave himself airs, confidentially telling me the “boys” were
doomed to disappointment because of their vague, nonsensical beliefs,
and researches after the impossible. He advised me to spruce up and quit
worrying about “that female,” who would prove only a “digger,” if we
ever did find her, which he thought very, v-e-r-y doubtful.

He tantalized Sheldon out of his usual good nature, who testily advised
Saxe. to curb his steep assurance as he had still to prove we were not
traveling in Asia. Nothing roused Saxe.’s ire more than to hint that
this new portion of the globe was Asia. The dispute lasted hours and
once nearly came to blows, but Saunders interfered with a remarkable
theory of his own which, after the first surprise, threw the
belligerents into spasms of laughter.

Then Saunders discovered his star, or thought he did.

Sheldon and I had turned in, after hauling the greater part of the day,
when wild shouting outside startled us. We sprang up in alarm, thinking
we were attacked by animals or savages, and rushed to the rescue.

Saxe., open-mouthed, was gazing heavenward, and Saunders, crazy with
excitement, bounced up and down like a rubber ball, gesticulating
wildly. The stars sparkled brilliantly in the soft, deep blue twilight
sky, but right above us a great globe of light burned red, swinging in
the atmosphere as though attached to a gigantic pendulum.

“It’s the star!” gasped Saunders. “My God, the star!”

“It flashed there suddenly,” echoed Saxe. “The sky cleared shortly after
you turned in and we were star gaping when that thing burst into view
like a meteor.”

I knew it wasn’t a star, but kept quiet. To air opinions is the worst
policy. I never make a noise unless invited.

We examined the great light through the telescope.

Saunders, disappointed and perplexed, at last admitted it was not a
star, and he’d be d——d if he could make out what it was.

Through the telescope the “star” had curious-shaped shadows surrounding
it, which served to puzzle us more.

Saxe. said it looked like the search-light of the lost _Propellier_.

Sheldon snickered, and suggested it was a signal from the Relief
Expedition. The Pole was still to be discovered, and we were lost
wandering around our own side of the earth.

Sporty old Saxe. nodded approval.

“Quite right,” he replied. “I agree with you. That light up there is a
signal of some sort, possibly of searchers. But we’ve crossed the Pole
all right, yet of late I’ve been thinking if we could discover a new
route it would be wise to turn back. Earth and the moon are similarly
degenerating—we have discovered the dead portion of our globe. As
provisions are giving out it occurs to me the situation is becoming
embarrassing.”

Sheldon looked uncomfortable and contrite, death was preferable to him
than turning back without discovering his fresh water ocean.

Saxe. nagged him unmercifully, but eventually they shook hands, then
again we turned our attention to the fiery globe above. While we
indulged in side arguments Saunders had been intently studying the great
light, but could give no satisfactory explanation as to its business up
among the stars. Saxe. suggested we signal to it and hurriedly began
searching among the storage, at last finding, packed near the roof, a
narrow, oblong box, containing rockets, which had been secreted in our
luggage as a joke. “FOR THE PURPOSE OF OCCASIONALLY LETTING THE RELIEF
PARTY KNOW YOUR LOCATION” was written neatly on a card inside the box.

“Old Jordan’s trick,” muttered Saxe., while I aired my suspicions that
the powder had become damp or something equally mysterious had happened
to it—there is always something wrong with rockets.

Saxe. scowled, but signified his intention of sending up rockets just to
see what effect they would have upon that red globe.

“For,” he concluded, “it is not a star, nor a moon, nor a sun. It is
nothing belonging to the heavens.”

We trooped out, each armed with a rocket, then at the signal
simultaneously up they whizzed, bursting with the report into
varied-hued sparks and descending in the usual golden shower. The effect
upon the bright globe was startling. Like a shot it flashed across the
sky, tinging a long, filmy, roseate path; smaller, and smaller it grew,
then vanished in space. Though still mystified we were satisfied with
the experiment. The next day dawned clear, warm. Towards noon the heat
became so intense we were forced to give up travel till evening. Saxe.
and Saunders had covered seven miles during the night, and we made two
in the early morning; consequently were nine miles from the point of the
phenomenon. We decided to wait a reasonable length of time for its
reappearance, and consumed the entire day in arguments. I was thankful
when evening approached. Eagerly we scanned the heavens, the stars came
out bright and clear, but nothing unusual occurred. Saunders informed us
the same phenomenon never appeared twice. Patiently we waited and
watched till near midnight, then, disappointed and angry over the delay,
hurriedly pushed on, when we were startled by the sudden appearance of
four great globes of light flaming just above us.

“Hoo-ray! hoo-ray!” yelled Sheldon. “Whatever it is, it signals to us.
We sent up four rockets and they respond with four balls of fire.
What’ll we do with ’em?”

Saxe. rushed to the car, returning with rockets and sent them up
himself, but their small light faded in the flood of fire that burst
from those brilliant globes. The stars vanished as the sky tinged to a
fiery sea, flames forked and twisted, seeming to gather volume, and in a
second turned to a thousand different hues. It was magnificent!

Gradually the fire dimmed, the stars twinkled richly in the pinkish glow
and the four globes above swayed gently. Then they descended nearer the
earth while a greenish, blue flame darted from each, floating upon the
air like a great ribbon, the color deepening as the four ends joined,
then formed into loops and circles, and in the second a word blazed
across the sky.

“Centauri!” I gasped.

“Centauri!” my three friends exclaimed.

My head grew light.

“Centauri,” I murmured. “I saw it.”

“I should think you did,” Saxe. cried. “We all saw it. I infer we are
traveling in the land of Centauri.”

“Behind each flaming globe,” muttered Saunders, who was unusually pale,
“I saw long, dark shadows of very solid appearance. They are planets
signaling to us.”

“Planets be d——d!” roared Saxe. “They were four balloons with great
electric search-lights. Boys, this side of the earth is inhabited, and
they are far ahead of us when it comes to fireworks.”

“Yes, and fond of airing themselves and their fancied superiority, like
the rest of us,” agreed Sheldon. “Therefore they’re human. Whee! for
Centauri!”



                              CHAPTER IX.


Urged by curiosity we traveled steadily night and day. Saunders scanned
the heavens nightly for a reappearance of the brilliant globes, and
incidentally his star, but discovered nothing except the atmosphere was
gradually clearing, and the filmy twilight heralded a beautiful,
crescent moon, whose silvery, mystic rays pierced the lifting northern
vapors. Sparse vegetation greeted us as we advanced, and we ran across
an odd, stunted plant, bearing a beautiful, crimson blossom, which threw
out a sickly-sweet odor, and shriveled up, turning black the instant it
was plucked. These vivid ice blossoms dotted the snow desert profusely
as the climate grew warmer.

We halted upon the crest of a hill to survey the surrounding country,
which was almost submerged in a thick, floating, blue mist; but
gradually this vapor sea lifted, compact like a monstrous lid, and we
viewed a vast expanse of velvety whiteness; but beyond—far, far beyond,
though real—we feasted our eyes upon the loveliest country God ever
created. We cheered the beautiful scene, and marveled at the
stupendously lofty mountains, whose azure peaks pierced the clouds. Vast
plains and valleys stretched wide, crossed and recrossed with
serpentine, silvery lines, and to the west, glimmering white, expansive,
was a great body of water, an ocean. Through the glasses the mountains
showed up, thickly covered with forest, a glorious, verdant land, richly
seamed with sparkling streams, a wondrous land shading into golden
lights, a paradise—superb Centauri!

Before we could look our fill upon this lovely promise of the future the
thick vapors descended, veiling all.

In our eagerness we went off our feed, consequently gained mightily in
speed. Soon we cleared the polar mists, the evenings grew deeper,
darker, the stars shone brilliantly, startlingly near and large. Then
one night, toward the death hour of twelve, far in the east a strange
opaline light slowly glided into view. A pear-shaped disc, lusterless
like a monster pearl, of a pale pink, mystic color. High in the heavens
it sailed—Saunders had at last discovered his star.

He pointed to it, pale, trembling, vainly striving to control his
emotion.

“It is at the full,” he murmured. “Pinkish-hued, egg-shaped, as I
insisted, contrary to all scientific statements. Gentlemen, behold the
planet Virgillius!”

We gave three cheers for the planet Virgillius. (Saunders and myself
both gloried in the name of Virgillius.)

We knew the old boy was happy and congratulated him, then viewed the
mystery through the telescope. It rose higher, glimmering in pale
splendor, weird, unnatural, as it flared in uncanny, pinkish light,
without sparkle or brilliancy. Through the telescope the belated star
was a disappointment. Partially obscured in spiral nebula, it appeared
to be in the liquid state, yet at intervals flared clear, revealing
vertical bars of piercing, phosphorous light.

Saunders launched into a learned, very scientific explanation, which the
discussive Sheldon prolonged far into the night.

The planet Virgillius was a “stellar apparition,” a “solar phenomenon,”
and the farther south we advanced the more vivid would the rose light
glow. Nine moons circled this singular planet, which revolved through
space in the same sphere directly opposite our “solar globe.”

Saunders lectured volubly, but the learned atmosphere evaporated the
instant he and Sheldon attempted an estimate of the distance between the
planet Virgillius and Earth. Saxe. joined in the argument, shouting:
“Unfathomable!” When the noise quieted I mildly suggested the dull-hued
star might possibly be a moon. This startling announcement, after
Saunders’s deep explanations, actually deprived my friends of speech,
and I hurriedly explained my reasons for condemning the great planet
Virgillius to the zodiacal insignificance of a moon, and a mighty little
moon at that. I blundered along, as people will who grapple with a
subject too heavy for them, but Saunders seemed overwhelmed at my
brilliancy. Saxe. scowled frightfully, and Sheldon played peekaboo. I
grew choleric; though my knowledge of astronomy was certainly limited,
my theory concerning the pink, flickering star, was as rational as
theirs, and so I frankly told them. They laughingly agreed, and Saxe.
called the argument off by yawningly reminding us it was long past
midnight, and suggested we turn in and rest the few remaining hours of
darkness.

                  *       *       *       *       *

Overwearied from the long day’s march, restlessly I tossed, enviously
listening to the measured breathing of my slumbering comrades and
vaguely turning over in my mind the advisability of rising. I was
determined to rise, though occasional lapses of memory made it difficult
to resume thinking about it precisely where I left off; still with
heroic efforts I managed to strive along till quite suddenly I drowsily
wondered why I worried so much over nothing in particular.

I had been dozing but a short time, it seemed, when slightly roused by a
vague, uneasy, persistent impression something unusual was going on.
Dreamily I became aware of stealthy movements and whispers within the
car and, believing it was morning, sleepily wondered what the fuss was
about, but my eyes flew wide as a hand suddenly grasped my shoulder,
gently shaking me, and Saxe. bent over, his fingers upon his lips.

“Get up!” he whispered. “We’re surrounded!”

“Surrounded by what?” I gasped.

“I don’t know,” he answered. “They look like men—inhabitants of this
side. Get up!”

I sprang from my bunk, my three friends were armed to the teeth and
prepared for the worst. Sheldon stood upon a packing box, peeking
through the ventilator and beckoned me up beside him. He edged away,
giving me his place, and I looked upon a remarkable scene. We were
surrounded.

A band of men numbering over a hundred, stood in groups or tramped
around the car, silent, all intently watching the windows.

Great, swarthy fellows, of magnificent physique, delicate-featured as
the East Indian. What made Saxe. doubt they were men?

Enormous horned dogs were harnessed to many odd-looking conveyances. In
one, seated among luxurious furs, a man rested whose piercing eyes never
wandered from the car. Occasionally he gave an order, and from the alert
attitude and obsequious manner of the others, I judged he was their
chief. Suddenly he raised his eyes to the ventilator and gazed straight
into mine; he seemed to smile; I caught a flash of white teeth as I sank
from view. Sheldon laughed at my precipitancy.

“One of them spied me!” I gasped.

“That’s nothing,” he assured me; “that fellow in the sleigh has spied
every one of us in turn; you’re the last; by this time I guess he’s
aware of the number of our band.”

Then he buoyed us up by elegantly expressing his belief that “we’d about
reached the last coil,” and advised us to “wiggle around,” and find out
what the “tribe” outside wanted. He couldn’t understand why the
“savages” didn’t attack us.

Saxe. braced up and declared he would step out and inquire what he could
do for the “dusky boys.” To avoid argument he unbarred the door at once
and we all trooped out to the platform.

Our sudden appearance startled the strangers who stared in round-eyed
wonder, while the man in the sleigh sprang out and hurried forward,
scanning us with the liveliest interest. We were not behind in that
matter but nodded, he responding with a sweeping bow. Saxe. held out his
hand, the other grasped and shook it heartily, then glanced smilingly at
us. We nodded again in our friendliest manner. The whole band saluted.

“By George! the Relief Party after all,” Sheldon muttered.

The leader indulged in graceful pantomime, pointing to the north,
indicating he knew we came from there, and apparently he considered we
had accomplished a wonderful feat. He pressed his hand to his heart and,
saluting, waved toward the south, from which we inferred he had
appointed himself our escort; and if everything was as agreeable as
appearances, then we had struck clover.

Saxe. thanked the gentleman—in English. The chief threw out his hands
and looked anxious. Saxe. tried again in German, then Italian, French,
Spanish, and finally in Latin. Our dusky friend listened attentively,
seeming to catch at a word or two of the Latin, then replied in the most
musical language I ever heard, similar to Latin; but we were all Latin
scholars and could not understand a word. We invited him to enter the
car. He complied graciously, first giving orders to his men, which they
obeyed with alacrity, and sleighs and dogs were prepared for action.

“We shall figure as the chief attraction at a barbecue,” murmured
Sheldon, as the car began moving, jolting fearfully with the
unaccustomed rapidity. “Depend upon it,” he continued, “that old tom-cat
over there is purring till the ripe moment, then presto! the world will
come to an end.”

The swift motion of the car and the thought of the tremendous advance we
were making inclined me to be skeptical of Sheldon’s barbecue, though
possibly he was correct. Saxe. was doing his level best to make himself
understood to the “tom-cat,” who in turn was equally anxious to be
understood, and seemed greatly astonished at everything he saw in the
car. After awhile he managed to convey to us two important facts, to
wit: His name was Potolili, chief of the Potolili tribes, and we were
six hundred years behind the times.

“Nonsense, he’s making sport of us,” muttered Sheldon, who was busy
brewing his favorite coffee. “Six hundred years behind the times, are
we? I’ll wager he never tasted coffee.”

Saxe. declared the Latin we spoke was a mutilation of the language, that
this “savage” had mastered the Latin of perfection. And the “savage”
proceeded to teach us this perfect language and made rapid strides into
the difficulties of our mutilation. He traveled with us nearly three
weeks and was good company, hilarious, but thoroughly vicious and
unprincipled. He sang ribald songs that I wonder at my daring in
mentioning them, and his sentiments towards the fair sex betrayed the
savage. I flushed at the way he alluded to the ladies; he considered
them without soul or value, and frankly told us when he and his people
renounced all that was delightful then civilization would welcome them.
“To efface the savage condition,” the gentleman informed us, “will take
centuries; till then—bah!”

Evidently the Potolilis did not desire civilization.

Potolili had an extremely cultivated palate and delighted in preparing
and introducing many peculiar dishes at our meals. An epicure he may
have been, but we certainly were far his superiors when it came to
cooking and politely refused to partake of any of his messes.

In return he rated our food as abominable, but Sheldon’s coffee made him
blink. In compliment we made strenuous overtures to his wine, which had
the appearance of water and a bouquet divine. It put fire in our veins,
courage in our hearts, and we existed in the confidence that only the
mighty enjoy. We were soon familiar enough with Potolili’s language to
question him regarding the new land we were entering. We learned
scientists were exploring the northern heavens when startled by
thousands of vari-colored sparks belching from the earth.

They hastened back to headquarters and informed their colleagues, who
flashed the news to various observatories and triumphantly published the
report throughout Centauri. This aroused controversy and much
speculation concerning the brilliant signals, and the following evening
four different scientific societies sailed to the north in hopes of
viewing the remarkable streams of light.

“Atmospheric experimenters and learned astronomers are continually
invading the northern regions. Their aim is to circle the moon,”
Potolili informed us. “Ten years ago the inhabitants of the moon
signaled to us. When the moon was at the full, a broad stream of vivid
light issued from her heart, illuminating the heavens. The phenomenon
aroused widespread discussion among the scientific societies throughout
the country, the chief excitement being not one knew more than the
other. Peace came only with the waning of the moon, which absorbed the
brilliant stream, and the signal never flashed again. Since that time
plans have been formed, experiments made, volumes written, all with a
view to circling the moon.”

“In what?” I gasped.

“Balloons!” muttered Saxe. “I told you they were balloons, and that
ninny over there (indicating Saunders) declared they were planets; bless
my soul!”

Potolili shrugged his shoulders. He had become accustomed to our
interruptions and patiently waited till we ended our side talk, then
continued without answering my question.

“The four societies wonderingly witnessed the northern phenomenon. As
the narrow ribbons of fire shot upward, bursting into thousands of
bright-hued sparks, these wise men concluded it was a signal of some
sort and claim they responded; then hurriedly returned and reported to
the Centaurians, who communicated with and solicited aid of the
Potolilis, the most northern tribe in the universe. We are thoroughly
familiar with these regions up to a certain degree, beyond that we dare
not venture, though we have a legend that centuries ago a sturdy
Potolili dared into the Unknown and safely reached the other side. He
encountered a strange, wild race, became their chief and founder of the
Potolili tribe over there. It is doubtful, as are all legends, but it
adds distinction to the Potolilis, and enrages the Octrogonas, with whom
we are at war—they are legend-less.

“Our instructions were, if we discovered anything to return with it, or
with news without delay. Our reward will be a piece of land we have
coveted for over half a century. The scientific societies are regarded
with respect, awe, and have a wide and popular hearing; but little
reliance is placed upon their reports. They are continually discovering
something that, upon investigation, refuses to be discovered; and in
this instance I believe the learned ones themselves are doubtful whether
they saw all they claim they did; otherwise all Centauri would have
accompanied us north. The scientists described the phenomenon, stated
the degree they sailed in, and hazarded a guess as to the latitude the
lights blazed in. Navigators of the clouds are always hazy on distance.
With this meagre information we started out upon the search, constantly
fearing the signal lights would flash beyond our sphere and force us to
abandon them. The vapors of the ice world congeals in our lungs and—the
end. We had been out scarcely a week when very abruptly we came across
an odd-looking car with four men inside very sound asleep. We were
astonished to so soon discover the phenomenon, while the little battered
car increased our wonder. It is a fair imitation of the one in Centur,
said to have been in use six hundred years ago. Centur is the city of
Centauri.

“You people are the same complexion as the Centaurians. We knew of the
continent on the other side of the globe, its wide civilization and
perpetual progression. Science revealed all this to us, but it was
reserved for the Potolilis to discover that Centauri is six centuries in
advance of the other side. This car and contents are rare antiquities
and of fabulous value. Have you any savages on your side such as
Potolili and his tribe?”

We considered Potolili about as clever a rascal as ever existed.
“Savages” of his calibre were not a rarity on our side; but what a
sensation he would create in our land with his herculean physique,
flashing eyes, glib tongue and cruel, brilliant intellect. His reason
was tumultuous, ruling for strife, war.

It riled Saxe. that his invention had been produced six centuries ago,
and proudly, with long explanations, he displayed the handsomely
engraved plan of the lost _Propellier_. Potolili turned aside to hide
his mirth, we were a continual source of amusement to him. But he became
deeply interested in Sheldon’s map of the world and marveled much at the
injured, disjointed instruments belonging to Saunders’s impaired
collection. He examined the remaining telescope with great curiosity,
informing us it was patterned after antiquated astronomical curios in
the museum. Saunders reared, and came back with: That it was a
moderately good telescope; could not compare with those blown up in the
explosion, but it had been of invaluable service to him in his labors.
Then he swerved upon his favorite topic and began to bleat of the great
planet Virgillius. Potolili roared and begged us to wait till we reached
the Centaurians. “But, remember,” he cried, gazing at us with sudden
respect, “though we have six hundred years the advantage, you have
accomplished what is beyond us. The Centaurians will go mad and receive
you as gods.”

We gazed at this man who called himself a savage, and apprehensively
wondered what the Centaurians were like.

Gradually, thankfully, we emerged from the ice wilderness where for
months we had miserably wandered, and under Potolili’s guidance made a
wide detour to avoid a chain of lakes which seemingly divided the Pole
regions from the living world. We crossed a low range of hills blocking
the way to a sloping valley, thinly mantled with snow, which melted to
slush beneath a burning sun. The temperature changed completely, this
wide marsh freed us entirely from the ice, snow and deadly northern
vapors, leading us to a rich, verdant, luxuriant country, a wonderful
country whose lofty, snow-capped mountains, velvet mantled in soft
green, reared sharply in the clear atmosphere of deep azure, and
Potolili impulsively threw out his arms, murmuring: “The potency of God
is sublime; He is the universe.”

Yet, with all this loveliness before us, half regretfully we glanced
back at the mist enveloped, frozen world, gleaming white, shadowy,
mystic, beautiful, so beautiful—at a distance.

We traveled over vast prairies, wide, trackless, where herds of wild
horses galloped; over rich meadow-land, where sheep and cattle grazed in
countless numbers; we rested in fertile valleys ripe with fields of
promise, swaying yellow seas of grain, and finally entered a deep,
odorous, wooded country, abundant with wild fruit and vegetation. The
refreshing splash of rushing waters guided us to the bank of a clear
sparkling stream, and heedless of Potolili’s warning concerning chills,
we plunged in for a long-needed swim. We sported like schoolboys, our
spirits rose, we grew boisterous, the swim revived and freed our bodies
from all tired aches. Saunders declared we had at last discovered the
River of Life. “Whose source springs from the inexhaustible wells of my
great body of fresh water,” Sheldon added.

We guyed him unmercifully, but he answered good-naturedly and the cool,
green-shaded wood rang with our shouts. Saxe. felt so frisky he started
a song in a terrible bass; we joined in the chorus and traveled some
distance before it dawned upon us Potolili did not approve of our noise,
though occasionally he smiled sympathetically. He looked worried, was
unusually silent, and his manner, also that of his men, appeared very
uneasy. He had sent little bands ahead to reconnoitre, and all sharply
watched hedges and thicket, and jumped at every sound. Finally Potolili
told us we would very soon have to part company. “We are nearing the
Octrogona reservation,” he explained. “Possibly you may have to travel a
few miles alone. Follow the river bank, it leads direct to Latonia. But
you’ll reach the Octrogonas first; they’re on the lookout for you and
will present you to the Centaurians, and attempt to claim the discovery.
I have sent a messenger ahead over the mountains, and before you fall in
with this savage tribe the Centaurians will know the northern streams of
light heralded the arrival of four wise men from the other side.”

From the disdainful way Potolili mentioned the Octrogonas we concluded
they ranked rather low in the advanced civilization of this side and
believed we were about to encounter the genuine, every-day savage of our
world (Saxe. got his box of beads handy), consequently we suggested to
Potolili to remain with us and personally hand over his “discovery” to
the Centaurians. Potolili coughed slightly and declined our suggestion,
informing us his escort ended at the frontier of the Octrogona
reservation; a formidable, but cowardly tribe, with whom at present he
was at war. Bands of both tribes were continually meeting in conflict
and he considered us safer without him.

“These wretched savages would have seized you long ago,” he added; “but
fear us and dare not venture beyond the limit of their own land. The
cause of the present war? Women! Old Octrogona very conveniently died
recently and the young devil was proclaimed chief. His first act was for
war; he seized my daughter, who is the most beautiful thing ever
created. He imprisoned her and forced her to become his bride. Women
willingly mated to the Octrogonas are outcasts; those forced into union
are martyrs. My daughter is a martyr—what a fate! I will kill Octrogona
on sight!”

We murmured sympathy. Potolili suddenly seemed greatly cast down, though
his gayety while traveling with us would never lead one to believe he
had just lost a beautiful daughter.

“Yes,” he continued, “they have gone too far; they are progressing,
becoming bolder; but I will exterminate them—that is their fate. For two
centuries we have been warring with these people for this same
offence—they will pilfer us of our women. The Octrogonas are doomed; we
shall overcome and command them. It cannot be otherwise, we are more
advanced, more civilized, more numerous. War must cease, but existence
can revel in superb tranquillity only when humanity has mastered the
divine wisdom to thoroughly control all emotions, then is perfect
civilization attained; but passion damns the universe to everlasting
savagery. The Centaurians,” he informed us, “were at one time divided
into many tribes, speaking different languages, and being unable to
understand each other would go to war on that account. They declared war
at the least provocation, then prolonged it because pride, honor or fear
of losing prestige with other nations was at stake. They would dispute
about the depth of the ocean, then go to war over it; whether the other
side of the earth was inhabited was always a good incentive; then some
powerful tribe would discover a weaker one had in their possession vast
fields of production, or perhaps a neck of land, skirting their own,
rich in metal, gems, and war is declared with the avowed intention of
exterminating the weaker foe simply to enrich themselves. Sometimes
these plans miscarried and the weaker foe became enriched—this was
savagery beyond our conception. These wars of avarice brought the
downfall of the nations. To-day they number but one—the Centaurians, a
rich and powerful tribe. The Centauri Reservation extends over the whole
of this portion of the globe, they speak one language, and have named
the universe after themselves. Their chief is revered as sublime, and is
a descendant of the founder of the Centauris, who, it is claimed, fell
from the star bearing that name. They are a grand, god-like race, having
reached the zenith of perfect civilization, yet still possess one
uncontrollable passion—an irreverent desire for knowledge. They would
ride the heavens, visit the moon and stars, yet dare not explore the
other side of their own little planet.

“Oh, Centauri! Centauri!” roared Potolili derisively; “four men, their
own color, yet still in the savage state” (he laughed), “have
accomplished what Centauri is still dreaming of. But the superiority of
a superb people will acknowledge and praise your daring. A true savage,
jealous, doubts and jeers. I worship the Centaurians; the men are gods,
the women—ah!” he clasped his hands, sighing voluptuously, “the women
are divine!”

Fourteen hours later we parted from Potolili.

“You are entering the Octrogona domain,” he told us. “I am sad at
parting, but we shall meet again. Good luck.”

We could not let him or his men depart without some little token of our
esteem; this regard deeply affected them.

Saxe. presented a canoe to Potolili. He was delighted with the gift. The
canoes had attracted his attention above everything else in the car, he
had never seen one before. I created a sensation by distributing money.
Potolili informed me the museum contained many of these rare, valuable
coins. Saxe. cautioned me to preserve my gold, and he became very stingy
with his beads. Potolili had curiously examined Saxe.’s collection of
beads, but preferred the canoe because it could not be found in the
museum. The beads, however, were there in every variety, and were
priceless; they were relics of an extinct age.

Potolili embraced us and bestowed upon Saxe. a most peculiar ring of
dull, coral-red metal. The width of the ring reached the first joint of
the finger, and was ornamented with a diamond whose least value in our
country would have reached four figures. It flashed a steel-blue glint.
We learned later this magnificent gem was a production of man. The
Centaurians had discovered the secret of the diamond.



                               CHAPTER X.


We entered the Octrogona domain, a dank, tropical forest, whose gigantic
trees towered hundreds of feet. Giant palms shaded glassy pools, dark
green, where huge, pale lilies floated, poisoning the air with their
strong, sweet, sickening odor. In this moist, slumberous richness, heavy
with unhealthy vapors, flowers of marvelous beauty and strange, unknown
fruits, berries grew in abundance. Sheldon, who was fond of
strawberries, gathered a quantity of deep-red, luscious-appearing fruit;
but Saxe. warned him against eating them, declaring the berries too
large, that strawberries of great size always tasted like turnips. These
berries were stringy and juiceless, with a peculiar, sharp flavor, that
blistered the palate. Fortunately we refused the first mouthful, the
fruit was poisonous; but we indulged freely in rich, purple clusters of
wild grapes, with a deep wine flavor, and thoroughly satisfied our
curiosity regarding all fruit discovered in our wanderings. For nearly a
week we roamed in the enchanting Octrogona forest, but saw nary an
Octrogona. We strayed far from the river bank, lost our way, and in the
confusion trying to find it plunged deeper into the wondrous, tropical
maze. The forest was alive with animal and bird mysteries. For hours we
followed strange, uncouth tracks, made by some monster. Occasionally the
wood rang with shrill, bell-like notes, followed by groaning, moaning
sounds that chilled us. The roaring of distant lions was cheerful in
comparison, but forced us to realize our peril. Monstrous birds of gay
plumage chirped to us, but flew higher in the trees as we approached.
Great red and gold serpents coiled and twisted, but glided to higher
branches as we stopped to watch them, where they regarded us curiously
from their brilliant, unblinking eyes. Once we came near being trampled
under by a strange, wild herd of ponies. They clattered past, snorting
and neighing, and glared viciously at us. They were queer, shaggy,
little ponies, with monstrous heads. Frequently as dusk approached we
were startled by wild, uncanny hoots, and saw huge, elongated bodies
whirr from tree to tree. We came across one of these creatures lying
prone upon the ground, its immense, gauze wings spread wide in the sun.
Believing it dead we poked and prodded the body, which was covered with
a pale brown down. Saxe., very curious, attempted to turn the thing on
its back; suddenly the wings fluttered, the mouth opened wide and out
forked pointed red fangs. With a loud, sibilant sound it flew up in the
tree. We watched it as it gently settled among the branches.

“Queer thing, neither animal nor fowl,” mused Sheldon.

“It’s animal,” Saxe. informed us in authoritative, yet argumentative
tones. “It’s the winged lizard, which has become extinct on our side.”

Sheldon coughed doubtfully. “Flying lizard—ahem!”

We encountered a colony of gigantic apes dwelling in little huts made of
foliage and tree branches. The tiny village rested in a wide inclosure.
Our approach created great excitement, the apes trooped from their huts
and clustered around us. They seemed friendly, but one huge fellow
familiarly grasped Saxe.’s shoulder, the next instant he sprawled upon
the ground. Then they showed fight, but we routed them. They rushed up
the trees, shrieking and chattering, and began pelting us with leaden
fruit. We stampeded. Sheldon and Saunders speeded and left us to haul
the car. When we caught up with them they were learnedly wrangling over
Darwin.

“Wrong, boys; altogether wrong,” Saxe. solemnly informed them. “We’ve
committed a grave blunder. Those were the Octrogonas, and we’ve insulted
them.”

Saxe. joined the Darwin debate.

The clear, sparkling stream which Saunders vowed was the River of Life
proved as illusive, but we did not despair, the luxurious forest was way
ahead of the ice blockade, and feeling confident that ultimately we
would be discovered by either the Octrogonas or Centaurians we leisurely
and cheerfully penetrated deeper into the dense, mystic wood, under the
impression we could discover a new route and unexpectedly stumbled
across, not the long-searched-for river, but the Octrogonas, who seemed
astounded at seeing us. They closed around us at once. Warriors,
magnificent men, clad for war in steel-like armor light as wool. They
were a detachment of the Octrogona army guarding the frontier. We told
them where we came from, had been discovered by the Potolilis, and had
strayed from the river bank. Judging by their astonishment it was the
first they’d heard of us, but they treated us with the greatest
courtesy, the Captain explaining that his regiment had been camped in
the woods for weeks. They received little news, but were aware the
warring tribes had met in several engagements, and with a whoop informed
us the Octrogonas had been victorious in all. What the war was over they
neglected to state. They questioned us closely concerning the Potolilis,
and seemed disappointed because we could give no information. They
finally escorted us to the edge of the woods, pointed out the route, and
there, far in the distance, sparkling, dancing in its serpentine course,
was the river whose bank we were still to follow. The directions were
clearly given, but at the last the Captain thought it advisable to send
a couple of guards with us. We thanked him and departed jubilant, glad
to be rid of the strange, dense forest, which to us seemed to extend
over the whole of this half of the world.

We traveled in an open, rugged country, meeting numerous detachments,
small armies bound for some place where the enemy had been located and
hoping for battle. The troops halted at sight of us. We were detained
and gaped at while the guards explained who we were and where we came
from. Toward evening we reached the main camp of the Octrogona army, a
soft, green plain, dotted with a formidable array of tents pitched
closely together, row upon row. The Octrogona army numbered thousands.
Evidently we were expected, pickets lowered arms as we passed, and the
news flew of our arrival. Warriors trooped from their quarters to gaze
wonderingly at us and our strange little car, and reverently helmets
were raised in salute. Then suddenly the air rang with cheers.

We uncovered, shouting response. The soldiers crowded about us in
welcome. We were detained a few minutes, then hustled into the car and
dozens of willing hands pulled us along at a lively speed. Accompanied
by cheering hundreds, we halted before a wide, square tent, staked in
the center of the camp and were escorted to a cool, fragrant room fitted
up with barbaric splendor. A hanging of skin was flung aside, and a man
advanced to meet us. We knew at once this was Octrogona.

He was darkly handsome; magnificent physique, his magnetism invincible.
He was born to rule. With piercing glance he scanned our faces, then
like a mask the sternness vanished. His smile was as sweetly alluring as
a woman’s.

“Greetings! greetings!” he cried, clasping Saxe.’s hand.

We clustered about him and each in turn received the embrace of welcome.
He motioned us to seats, then explained he had been commissioned by the
Centaurians to discover the cause of the phenomenal northern lights, but
Potolili, with whom he was at war (his face darkened ominously), had
spies, vermin, crawling throughout the Octrogona forces, who conveyed to
their chief the news of the northern commission, etc.

Potolili at once organized and headed an expedition and was well on his
way north before the Octrogonas had commenced preparations.

“To the Potolilis,” he continued, “is the credit, reward, of discovery;
but it is an honor stolen, and for the theft they shall pay. I have
vowed this war shall end only with the extermination of the Potolilis.
The black tribes must dissolve in one; the enemy does not progress; they
are now as centuries ago—savages. They are guilty of innumerable
outrages against us; from our stock they pick the best, and for years
have appropriated our women and boasted of their gallantry because the
women failed to return—they dared not. They have in every way sought to
injure our good repute, with the Centaurians, and Potolili’s latest
offence is the seizure of my sister. He forcibly removed her and her
women from the retreat I had placed her in. She was the most beautiful
woman of the Octrogona tribe, but the moment she became Potolili’s
possession she became an outcast—she hastens his downfall.”

I didn’t dare look at Sheldon.

“I say, boys,” he muttered, “what a jolly opinion they have of each
other, and what holy liars! Five to one on crafty Potolili, against this
fiery young scamp!”

We didn’t take his bet, but it went hard to keep from grinning. His
language was so droll beside Octrogona’s lofty tirade, whose eyes now
snapped as he realized, for some reason, we were laughing at him.

Saxe. hastened to express sympathy, and declared we all hoped the
Octrogona forces would be victorious. Octrogona saluted deeply, at the
same time keeping a suspicious eye on Sheldon, which caused Saunders to
irritably remark: That Sheldon was an ass whose noisy braying would
eventually get us all into trouble.

Potolili’s agility in discovering us evidently greatly exasperated
Octrogona.

“He will be rewarded with a piece of land we’ve both coveted for over
fifty years,” he hissed. “But I’ll wrest it from him! Do you know the
moment he sighted you a messenger was sent over the mountains to report
to the Centaurians, who will arrive shortly to escort you to their
territory. If we were at peace Potolili would have forced you people
over the mountains to prevent our meeting, but the journey is dangerous
during war time. He suffered heavy losses during his northern trip, my
troops slaughtered the Potolilis in every engagement. I had troops
stationed in ambush to capture Potolili when he neared the reservation,
never believing he would abandon his ‘discovery’ three miles from the
boundary line. He is a coward, sneak, and up to his old deviltry! He
will not fight openly like a soldier! But it is destiny, the Octrogonas
will be victorious. And, gentlemen (he bowed deeply), my abode is at
your disposal.”

We thanked him, mentioning the car, preferring not to intrude upon him.

Impatiently he threw up his hand, commanding silence, then conducted us
to an adjoining tent and advised us to “cleanse,” while attendants
hauled in several huge jars containing ice water.

“I suppose he thinks we bathed every day in an ice lake while fooling
around the Pole,” grumbled Sheldon, dousing himself in the chilling
water.

“He certainly had some good reason for forcing us to clean up in water
at freezing point,” Saxe. admitted. “Let’s ask him for it.”

“Ask him for what?” sputtered Saunders.

“Something to eat,” murmured Saxe. sweetly.

And Saunders glared because we all snickered.

Octrogona’s quarters consisted of a number of tents pitched closely
together in a circle, and when we ventured forth we promptly became
entangled in the tent maze, butting into places where we had no business
to and startling a number of dusky individuals who rushed upon us
chattering wildly, but promptly salaamed as though we were gods. And
they were black! Whew!

Octrogona suddenly appeared, laughing loudly at our discomfiture. We
murmured apologies, which he politely waived aside and escorted us to
the front tent.

Refreshments were served. The table was loaded with strange delicacies.
Roasted fish stuffed with berries swimming in the fresh juice of grapes;
wild game sliced with crushed nuts, and meat spiced with rich, tropical
fruit, tempted the appetite, yet everything was cold—and Saxe. longed
for soup. The wine was the same brand Potolili had been so lavish with,
and though of a clear, sparkling crystal, was searching. Octrogona, in
his dining, was civilized, a _bon vivant_. The service was excellent,
putting us on our mettle and rousing to action our rusty table
etiquette.

After dining Octrogona expressed a wish to examine the car. We placed it
at his disposal. He examined everything with much curiosity, and for an
old string of wax pearls, presented Saxe. with an armlet carved from
quartz ornamented with five flashing emeralds.

“You’re trading at a bargain, old boy,” Sheldon told him, but he was
frowned to silence and found solace brewing his coffee, which he wanted
Octrogona to taste. Octrogona seemed doubtful of the cup handed to him,
but inhaling the aroma, drank with relish. The flavor tickled his
palate, and he begged for some of the beans. We decided the cultivation
of coffee had become a lost industry. It seemed impossible these
enlightened people had never discovered it.

We returned to the tent and were served with syrupy liqueur in large
silver thimbles, and some queer little cakes that tasted like sweetened
mud. We avoided the cakes, but the liqueur! what a bouquet! and how it
flushed us! Even Octrogona, who no doubt was seasoned, seemed affected.
His eyes flashed, his lips thickened voluptuously, and his tongue
loosened confidentially. With a sigh he told us of Potolili’s daughter,
which originally was not his intention.

“The most beautiful woman in the world!” he exclaimed with amorous
enthusiasm. “The women of Centauri are divine, but Potolili’s daughter
is—heaven!”

“She is your prisoner,” I blurted out before Saxe. could prevent.

Octrogona eyed me keenly for a second, then replied: “No, I am her
prisoner—her slave!”

“Hum! got it bad!” murmured Sheldon, ever alert to mix things.

“As you know of Potolili’s daughter,” Octrogona continued, eying me
severely, “and undoubtedly believe she is my prisoner, which is false,
perhaps you can give me some information concerning my sister Gona.”

“I cannot,” I replied. “Potolili did not mention your sister, though he
told of the abduction of his daughter.”

“That man is a traitor, liar!” Octrogona yelled fiercely. “He abducted
Gona, then learning we were preparing for war he sends his daughter,
whose beauty is renowned, sends this lovely girl among my men to lead
their thoughts from war to love. She obtained sympathy for her father
and his people, she lowered my sister in the esteem of my soldiers,
declaring Gona went voluntarily, having long been enamoured with
Potolili. (This we did not doubt.) By the merest chance I heard of the
matter and ordered the lovely devil brought before me. And she came like
the Queen, enchantress, that she is, reclining amid silken cushions and
flowers and borne aloft by worshippers.

“I was dazzled, and—er—,” Octrogona paused, his glance shifted, “she is
still here.” Then realizing the comical side of the situation, he burst
out laughing.

“She and her father are schemers, and have no equal for craftiness,” he
continued. “Her mission is to influence all in favor of her people, to
arouse so-called brotherly love, and effect the unification of tribes,
with—er—Potolili as supreme chief. Until her mission is accomplished she
will not permit me to possess her, yet swears to her love for me. She is
not a prisoner, but I have placed her where she can work no further
mischief except upon me; and I love her! I love her! She has full
freedom, but at the least sign or inclination to return to her people
she becomes a prisoner and a slave to my fancy.”

“Octrogona! Octrogona!” we heard a voice wail in protest, sweet as a
bell. With a stride Octrogona reached the end of the tent, flung aside
the hanging and drew forth the shrinking woman.

We knew she was Potolili’s daughter. No one in the world could resemble
him so completely. She was beautiful, wondrously beautiful, in a
sensuous, barbaric fashion. Her luxurious tresses, glossily rippled
unconfined; her dusky neck, shoulders, arms were devoid of covering
except for the flashing gems that hid most of her charms. Soft, white,
shimmering stuff wound around her form. This woman, with her great
animal magnetism, could sway and rule as she pleased. The conquest of
Octrogona was diversion to her. She hung upon his shoulder with her full
weight. He flung his arm around her, both were oblivious of our
presence. In silence he gazed into her deep eyes with intense love, and
she cooed to him while one pretty hand caressed his cheek.

“Octrogona, I am your prisoner,” we heard her tell him. “Your eyes
thrill, hold me, your glance is stronger than prison bars.”

“I should say so!” muttered Sheldon, who had become very restless.

“I love you! I love you!” the siren went on. “Octrogona, your pleasure
is mine.”

Swiftly he bent his head and pressed his lips to hers.

“No,” said Sheldon, turning his back upon them, “they’re not married
yet. Matrimony is death to that sort of thing. And I say, boys, she’s
playing the same old game on him, and they claim to be six hundred years
ahead of us. That fiery boy is as blind as a bat. Twenty to one foxy
Potolili rules the two tribes in less than a month, and I don’t blame
Octrogona. She’s a glorious woman! Jove, a glorious woman!”

Before we could put a quietus on Sheldon, several men rushed excitedly
into the tent.

“The Centaurians!” they cried. “The Centaurians are coming!”

Octrogona awoke as from a dream, becoming at once cold, alert,
diplomatic. He gently put the girl from him, and with a deep bow urged
her to retire. With a lingering glance she stepped from view. He turned
quickly to us, murmuring: “The Centauris!” and we hurried outside. The
camp twinkled brightly with lights. We could see the soldiers crowding
from their quarters to gaze up at a dozen or more great balls of fire,
which were circling and lowering like buzzards.

A chariot drawn by three magnificent horses dashed up to where we stood.
Octrogona explained the Centaurians would meet us in the plains a half
mile distant, and invited us to enter the chariot. We declined,
expressing the wish to travel in our car; it had brought us so far it
could convey us to the Centaurians. Octrogona displayed wisdom; he
avoided argument, and hurriedly entered the car with us, ordering it to
be attached to the chariot, and away we started amid wild cheers from
the soldiers. Many followed some distance, shouting lustily, and in the
enthusiasm we whooped and jumped like a brace of Indians.

Octrogona laughed till his sides ached.

But at last we were to meet the Centaurians and witness civilization six
hundred years in advance of our own. We wondered what these new people
were like, and gravely pondered between conflicting thoughts of hope and
fear.

Sheldon believed his great body of fresh water a discovered fact. The
Centaurians would escort him to view these marvelous waters.

Saunders, jubilant, chuckled with enthusiasm as he speculated upon the
vast improvements accomplished in six hundred years upon astronomical
instruments, which he expected placed at his disposal for a thorough
analytic inspection of the planet Virgillius, and he confidentially
informed me it was his intention to join the next expedition to the
moon. Saxe. thought of the lost _Propellier_, and figured on the
powerful proportions it must have attained in so many centuries of
improvement. As for myself, I grew wild, restless with expectation. I
thought of the wraith, devil, woman, what you will, that had decoyed me
to this world. The luring, smiling beauty frenzied me. Centauri,
Centauri, was the name my heart gave her.

Swiftly we reached the plains, plunging into brilliant illumination cast
by great search-lights in the towers of a number of—ships!

We pressed forward in amazement.

“Powers above, they’re ships!” Sheldon cried.

“Ferry-boats!” I gasped.

And the decks were crowded. The boats presented a gala appearance,
streamers and banners flying, the upper decks shaded with gay-colored
awnings. We could easily see into the brilliantly-lighted salons, and
wondered at the sparkling interior, and down the sides of all these
vessels people jostled and hurried.

A number of men hastened to meet us. Stalwart, massive fellows, white,
but a dark tinge, and every blessed mother’s son of them as handsome as
Apollo. Potolili spoke the truth, the Centaurians were gods.

“Good heavens, what magnificent people!” I cried out in admiration.

“Aye,” answered Sheldon, “to see something like this is worth crossing
the Pole. For the first time in my life I see a _man_!”

His remark irritated Saxe. “Curtail your tongues!” he snapped. “The more
perfect the body the less soul it contains. Sheldon, you’ve lost your
senses. Undoubtedly those splendid creatures are men; so are we.
Perfection we cannot boast, but we possess souls.”

“Do we, now?” squeaked Saunders, who never permitted any one to worry
Sheldon except himself. But Saxe. only scowled, and with Octrogona,
stepped from the car.

“Wonder if the climate is affecting old Saxe.?” Saunders inquired.

“You started it!” Sheldon growled.

“And you got the blame for it!” I retorted.

“Hist! don’t quarrel; come along,” Saunders urged hurriedly. “Suppose
they expect to rope us on to those boats.”

We hurried after Saxe., who spruced up lively as a Centaurian advanced
to greet us. A handsome, broad-shouldered gentleman, who spoke words of
welcome in Latin, pure and simple, much to the astonishment of Saxe.,
who expected a mutilation of every language under the sun thrown into
one. Many crowded around us, eager to shake hands, and we were
extravagantly complimented upon accomplishing the “remarkably daring
exploit of crossing the Polar regions.” Of course Saxe. received most of
the honors and bowed continually, while we stood in the rear a sort of
reflection, though I noticed many eying me curiously and suddenly a
group of gay, young men, who had held aloof, laughing and joking among
themselves, no doubt at me, rushed forward and closed around me, and to
my chagrin, boldly criticised my face and form, muttering: “A Centauri,
a Centauri!”

“Now don’t get conceited, Sally,” Sheldon admonished. “These fellows
think you as pretty as you think them.”

And sizing up the fresh boys, I realized I was as broad, massive, if not
quite as tall as they. Sheldon’s remark made me blush like a girl, the
color flamed my face, and perceiving it the Centaurians shouted with
glee. One slapped me on the back, another patted my cheek, a third
pulled me one way, while a fourth drew me in the opposite direction. I
caught the nearest man, raised him above my head, swung him around
several times, then flung him from me. Another rushed upon me and, to
show my strength, I caught him with one arm, tossed him high as though
he were a ball, dizzied him with a rapid swing, then laid him gently on
his back. It was enough.

“A Centauri! A Centauri!” they shouted, crowding closer. Then amid
laughter and cheers I was hoisted and carried in triumph aboard one of
the ships. What a predicament had I been less strong! Such a glory this
muscular popularity (?).

Saxe., Sheldon and Saunders laughingly followed and cheered with the
crowd. They were proud of their Sally? Well!

Our staunch little car created considerable anxiety, but finally, with
the utmost care and reverence, was hoisted aboard.

Octrogona accompanied us to the ship simply to go through the formality
of explaining that we would meet again. He gave a long hand-clasp to
Saxe., to whom apparently he’d taken a great fancy, while that gentleman
advised him that “Peace is the Spirit of civilization,” and begged him
cease the continual warfare with Potolili.

“Become friends, comrades,” continued Saxe., warming up. “Yield to the
pleading of the girl you love, or you may lose her. She will return to
her people.”

“Oh, no!” Octrogona answered quickly. “I love her youth, beauty; but
passion does not control me; I delight in anticipation. The girl is
mine, and she will never return to her people.”

“This savage delights in anticipation,” murmured Sheldon, “and those on
our side delight in precipitation. Wow!”

“Have you ever met Potolili?” Saxe, asked.

“No!” cried Octrogona, aghast. “Meet Potolili! Oh, no!”

“You should,” Saxe. urged, undaunted. “You love the daughter, you will
be charmed with the father. Just give the word, he will meet you more
than half.”

“Ah, no doubt, no doubt,” said Octrogona drily; “but (politely wishing
to make Saxe. happy), I shall consider your advice. It never occurred to
me to meet Potolili, but it could be arranged, and to please the girl I
am willing to make some concessions; then—ahem! my sister Gona, is still
his captive.”

Saxe. was pleased and satisfied his words would go a long way toward
ending the war. He patted Octrogona on the back, who seemed immensely
tickled about something. Saxe. smiled indulgently. He considered this
great chief merely a hot-headed boy, and renewed the risky topic,
endeavoring to impress Octrogona with the wisdom of meeting his enemy.
But Octrogona was too politic to continue the subject and seemed
suddenly very anxious to depart. He astonished Saxe. by tenderly
embracing him, then bowing deeply to us, hurriedly left the ship. We saw
him enter the chariot, he waved his hand as the horses plunged into
gallop. Saxe. twirled his cap, but our attention was attracted to the
strange vibration of the ship, accompanied by an odd whirring sound, and
two huge black objects at the sides slowly unfurled and gently fluttered
in the breeze. They looked like the wings of a monster bat, and the boat
began moving—moving upwards. Heavens knows what we thought when boarding
the vessel, but it never occurred to us we would sail the air.

“It’s a flying machine!” gasped Saxe.

“An air ship!” echoed Sheldon.

And we continued to float upward, the vessel rolling and rocking as in a
rough sea, causing Sheldon to exclaim: “The damned thing’ll roll clean
over and dump us all out!” And then to impress the gentlemen surrounding
us that his remark had been one of learning he began conversing
earnestly in his most polished, class-room manner with a tall gentleman
beside him. A fine old individual, with a long grey beard, towed
Saunders off, and Saxe. became the center of a group of men, who plied
him with questions and were eagerly questioned in turn.

A handsome young man took possession of me—he was the Governor’s son,
and introduced himself as Tolna; and I learned we were the guests of the
Governor, and were being conveyed to Latonia in his private yacht. I
questioned Tolna as to the safety of traveling by the zephyr route, and
was keen concerning the rolling of the ship, explaining it was my first
experience of air navigation. He looked incredulous, and I reminded him
his people were six centuries in advance of those of my country.

“But we are considering the air ship,” I continued. “We are just
realizing the air is navigable, and several bright men have invented
machines that were received fairly well by the press, but the atmosphere
did not take kindly to them. The fatalities incurred ruinous
skepticism.”

“Fatality, Skepticism, are the parents of Progression,” Tolna informed
me. “Without either the universe would be vacuum. Skepticism is the
spur; Fatality, realization. Vessels sailing the clouds have been our
mode of traveling for centuries, continual improvements have made the
ships absolutely safe. I do not think the air ship can be perfected
further unless something altogether new is invented. For speed, comfort,
elegance, the air ship has no parallel. This rolling and slanting is
simply the upward motion, like birds whose wings flutter spasmodically
to a certain height then straight they speed almost without motion. Our
ship will soon reach the altitude, the rolling, flapping of sails will
cease, and the smoothness, evenness of travel will enrapture you. A
feathered pet served as the model for the first invention, which can be
seen in the museum at Centur. It is a remarkably cunning, useless
contrivance, but is the foundation of this superb floating machine. Do
not fail to visit the museum when you reach Centur.”

Tolna’s explanation undoubtedly was very elevating, but there was
considerably more to learn about the air ship; and apparently we had
reached the desired altitude, for the pitching and rolling ceased, and
we flew straight ahead upon an infinite avenue of ether, so swiftly as
to seem motionless. I was conducted to view the engine which was
inclosed in a crystal cage stretching the length down the center of the
ship. The machinery was a complicated mass of golden wires, crossed and
recrossed with an astonishing assortment of tiny wheels, all revolving
around a powerful arm that hammered swiftly up and down, and received
force from a treacherous looking cylinder dashing back and forth. I
became absorbed in the confusion of wires drawn swiftly over their
golden pulleys, the sheen of yellow metal was dazzling.

Tolna turned me over to the engineer, who invited me to enter the glass
cage with him. The kindly fellow patiently answered all my questions
(know the senseless questions of greenhorns?) and explained the whole
intricate mass of machinery which comprised five distinct separate
engines, with only one in action; and fascinated, I watched the one
working engine that compelled this huge structure to float upon the air.
Then I made thorough examinations, vividly impressing the whole superb
complication upon my memory. I was determined to master the mystery of
the air ship before returning to my own country. Finally Tolna returned,
some sign passed between him and the engineer, which I caught for all my
absorbed contemplation. Evidently the engineer wished me out of the way,
and hurriedly I departed with Tolna, who informed me my friends had made
inquiries for me.

My three friends were hugely enjoying themselves. Each in their element,
the center of a crowd, were lecturing with gusto upon the merits of
their respective hobbies. Saxe. was exhibiting the interior of his car,
and his face glowed with pride at the extraordinary interest the
Centaurians took in the engraving of the lost _Propellier_.

Saunders was displaying the mutilated portions of his various
astronomical instruments; his one uninjured instrument created a
sensation. The Centaurians had never seen anything like it. Nothing in
that line could compete with it in the museum at Centur, and they warned
Saunders his little, old telescope would be seized by the government to
be exhibited as a rare curio. He would be compensated, of course, of
course—any one could see Saunders grow.

Sheldon was very important—irritatingly so—and had assumed an attitude
of condescension little short of cuss words. He had quite the largest
group of listeners, and was explaining with authoritative distinctness
the many points of interest upon his map of the world.

But I culled the attention of all by distributing a few gold and silver
coins, and this little generosity begot a tremendously new sensation.
For the first time in my life I was the recipient of _thanks_, the value
exceeding by far the gift; and under the unusual experience I became
awkward, blushed and stammered.

What a startling, barbaric custom! Thanks! thanks! thanks! Prevailing
etiquette of our world voted acceptance in any form, but a blasé,
indifferent manner, the acme of vulgarity. Favor conferred in
acceptance—the recipient’s due, etc. Scientists delved into chaos,
feverishly pursuing a wraith-like, fascinating substance, they labeled
Gratitude, but the experts failed to discover the slightest streak of
this rare ore of their brains. Universal is the belief in Gratitude, but
no one—no one—has ever witnessed it.

Tolna escorted us to the cabin, which was richly furnished. Pale, cloudy
material draped the walls; soft damask skins carpeted the floors; there
were many couches and roomy seats in odd, fantastic forms, marvelous
with intricate carving, massive, weighty, as though hewed from stone,
yet lighter than wood.

The Centaurians had mastered the rare art of combining beauty with
comfort. I sank into a thickly cushioned seat and sipped the strange
poignant liqueur Tolna served in tiny glasses. The poignant bouquet
swept the cobwebs of fatigue from my system, and boldly I complimented
the handsome youth, who looked as though he had just stepped from some
mediæval painting. The Centaurians were a marvelously enlightened
people, but in mode of dress had apparently remained stationary. They
adhered, probably from time immemorial, to the picturesque, easy costume
of the ancient Romans, but the gorgeous, pagan splendor of Rome paled
before the barbaric magnificence of Centauri, scintillating in
gem-studded fabrics. Sheldon, who was near, whispered excitedly: “The
wealth of the world must be on this side. These fellows are stiff with
richness—six centuries ahead—barbarians!”

“Orientals,” I suggested.

“Nonsense!” he retorted. “But they do remind me a little of the
Chinese—same costume since the year one. You’ve tipped Saunders one
better, he declares these people are descendants of a lost tribe of
Romans or Jews, explaining the wandering Jews discovered themselves
again in the Romans, while the meandering Romans were lassoed by the
Centaurians. He bases his extraordinary inference upon the appearance of
these people; says they’re Romans clear through, and grew bilious
because I called the Centaurians barbarians, hinting he’d got his tribes
mixed. I wasn’t aware there were any Romans missing.” Sheldon chuckled
at the recollection and “supposed” the argument would last the whole
time they were in this part of the world.

Saunders’s idea concerning the origin of the Centaurians was certainly
diverting, still not impossible. But we, not the Romans, discovered this
wonderful new continent, and the superb Centauris are a product of their
own magnificent land. These tall, powerful men were god-like in their
perfect beauty with their close-cropped curls, strong necks and massive
shoulders; but it did go against me to see the great muscular arms
heavily braceleted.

Tolna, linking his arm in mine, informed me the journey was nearly at an
end. We strolled out upon deck, everybody followed, and a quiver of
excitement passed through all as a hoarse shout wafted up from the
earth. The ship began rolling, and I experienced an uncomfortable
sensation as it suddenly slanted down from the wind and through a damp,
chilling cloud, then what an extraordinary, magnificent sight met the
eye. Beneath, visible as in broad day, white, brilliant with lights, lay
the remarkable, dazzling city of Latonia. Shining mosques, odd,
cone-shaped domes, delicate spiral towers reared majestically to
infinite heights, tinging the heavens with flaring, gigantic sprays of
brilliancy. Through vivid reflections the broad avenues of this flashing
city were plainly visible, black with a crowding, yelling mob that rent
the air with deafening shouts as the gradually drooping ship gently
settled upon a high steel trestle.

We were hurried down spidery steel steps and through an avenue of
guards, but hastily uncovered before the wild cheers of the crowd that
pressed forward. There was a rush, the guards gave way, we were seized,
hoisted high, and carried to the waiting carriage, where a splendid old
party stood smiling a welcome. With one hand he held in check the six
restive horses, the other he extended to Saxe. The noise, confusion, was
so great it was impossible to hear anything said, but we knew this was
the Governor of Latonia, and saluted deeply. The fine, old gentleman
gave us each a kindly greeting, then was obliged to turn his attention
to the prancing, impatient horses, as they suddenly plunged into the
crowd, which stampeded, but quickly closed in the rear and raced after
us, cheering. We shouted back, waving our caps, while the delighted
Latonians fiercely pelted us with flowers.

Once or twice the Governor raised his arm in protest, but the four
scientists from the other side of the globe commanded the whole
attention. The speeding horses soon outdistanced the crowd and suddenly
swerved down a wide, peaceful boulevard. Dazed with excitement, we
hardly noticed this wonderful city of bizarre architecture except that
it blazed in a continual glare. The streets were all of unyielding
stone, and thronged with people, people, people—in the gardens,
doorways, windows, even clinging to the house-tops—who cheered lustily
as we clattered past and frantically waved gay streamers and peculiar
white flags, ornamented with a single, glaring, yellow star.

Gallantly we saluted this strange emblem of Centauri.

The Governor’s palace, situated in the heart of the city, was a great,
clumsy, stone structure, of many gables and towers, surrounded by a park
of stately oaks. The tolling of countless bells signaled our arrival,
the tall gates flew wide, and the horses dashed up a broad, graveled
road. People hurried from all parts of the park to see us as the
Governor escorted us to the great domed hall, where he bestowed upon us
the embrace of welcome, then personally conducted us to our apartments.
He placed his palace at our disposal, and gave strict orders concerning
our comfort (the moon was ours for the asking), then turned us over to
an army of attendants. These people seemed rather timid of us at first
and deferentially sounded our inclinations regarding the bath. As we
exhibited a lively interest in the subject they lost no further time
about the matter, but hurried us down vast columned halls and corridors,
and finally ushered us to a pavilion gardened with countless strange,
tropical plants. A deep rippling brook gently caressed the soggy edge of
a steep mossy bank, and down this soft incline we recklessly tumbled and
rolled, hauling and mauling each other, and simultaneously plunged into
the water with a tremendous splash—the water was tepid and stinging.
Saxe. suggested it was the salt, but Saunders was positive we bathed in
fresh water, while Sheldon declared it was lime, and these advanced
people wished to do away with us to get possession of the car. It was
certainly a villainous plot. But we emerged from the plunge with
tingling, glistening skins, and meekly submitted to the severe rubbing
down that even a pugilist would balk against. Swathed in fleecy wool, we
were hustled through a panel door, down a winding, oven-heated alley,
which led, in some mysterious way, direct to our apartments. They
handled us like toys, these cast-iron people, and quickly assisted us
into fresh clothing—the costume of Centauri, which suited us well,
though Sheldon whined that he felt naked. Saxe. and Saunders bothered
continually about the chemicals contained in the bath, and quizzed the
attendants, who pretended not to understand; both however declared they
felt as fresh as daisies and good for all night.

“No doubt,” said Sheldon, “freshness is proverbial with daisies, though
I’ve seen many that reeked the other way; but recollect everything on
this side is six centuries ahead, even to the water, and the Centaurians
seem pretty rapid. That stiff, old chap, the Governor, is going to let
us in for some tall doings.”

Saxe. flushed angrily as I snickered approval of Sheldon’s flippancy,
but was forced to postpone his bristling rebuke as a sedate, but very
nervous individual, entered, bowing profoundly and announced in scarcely
audible tones something about “Governor,” and “waiting.” We followed the
gentleman of nerves, who seemed greatly distressed because we looked at
him. He ushered us to the great dining hall, then escaped with
remarkable agility.

A feast awaited us, long tables spread with snowy, sheeny cloth; rich,
tropical fruit heaped high in wide, golden salvers, pasty sweets,
jellied viands, crowned with the aroma of punch—it was a congenial
atmosphere. The rooms were crowded with guests, who watched us with
delighted expectancy as Tolna advanced to meet us.

“Not a woman in sight!” muttered Sheldon. “Somebody had a dream like
this once and woke up, crowing he’d been in hell!”

Divining Sheldon’s grumble Tolna explained the ladies had retired. He
would not detain us long, as he wished us to rest, for at daybreak,
according to orders, we were to be conveyed to Centur, and presented to
“The Centauri.”

Introductions followed. We were separated in the gathering about the
tables. Sheldon joined the representatives of the National
Geographical-Geological societies. Saunders bossed things among the
astronomers, and Saxe. was the center of an odd-looking, crowding group.
I was tolled off to the Sports of Latonia, there was no doubt about it,
either—they _were_ Sports.

The wine passed freely. Ye gods! wine that required years to season the
system. I drank sparingly, indulging in luscious fruit, yet did I become
light-headed and lost prudence. I was the gayest of the swift band and
boisterously outsang them all. How they did laugh! And their jokes!
Ouch! leveled at me! Each ardently drank to the beauties of Centauri,
then all declared some angel waited my return to the other side. Their
mirth grew wild, noisy, as my face flushed, the blood rushed to my
brain, wine roused desire. I sprang up, overturning the chair in my
eagerness and twirling my goblet high, shouted: “I drink to the glorious
eyes of my inamorata, Alpha Centauri!”

The effect was startling and enough to sober any man. A pall of silence
fell upon the guests deeper than the polar stillness and in profound
respect all rose stiff, erect as soldiers, murmuring in hushed,
reverential tones the name: “Alpha Centauri.”

I was astonished, yet positive of some mistake. These men could not
possibly know of the myth that had lured me to this land, gallantly
complimenting their fair country, I, at the same time had been
chivalrous to the hidden passion. There was some mistake, and I laughed
at their solemnity, again raising my goblet: “To the beauty of my
enchantress, Alpha Centauri!” I sang out, but in lower, gentler tones.

What ailed them? All bowed respectfully, but not one touched his glass.
Then the Governor, who was at the far end of the table, raised his glass
level with his eyes and slowly turned it in a circle. “Gentlemen,” he
spoke in tones almost devout, “with the fiery young stranger, I drink to
the most wise, divine—Alpha Centauri!”

At once all goblets were raised and drained, then in silence the
gentlemen reseated themselves. Merriment was stifled, I alone remained
standing, sobered—but when was I ever wise.

“I drank to a myth,” I cried; “a vision of my brain that tortured and
lured me beyond the Pole. May I inquire whom you gentlemen honor?”

Again the Governor rose and replied: “We drank to Alpha Centauri, the
future ruler of the world, the most wonderful woman in the universe,
resolute, brilliant, mysterious as the star from whence she came—Alpha
Centauri.”

My goblet fell with a thud. I tried to recover it and caught the table
to steady myself. At once all was confusion, a sea of blurred faces
surrounded me. “Give him water, he’s had enough wine!” rang the familiar
tones of Saxe. Immediately the weakness left me and Sheldon’s hoarse
whisper forced me to smile. “The myth realized—if she only looks as she
appeared; but she won’t, old boy, she won’t! It’s some old jade with a
hair-lip. Beautiful women were created to be adored, never to rule.” He
chuckled audibly as I pushed him aside.

Tolna offered me wine, but Saxe. compelled me to drink a whole goblet of
water, then in a way all his own, which no one could take offence at, he
intimated the day had been long, fatiguing, and suggested the
merrymakers continue without the presence of the four strangers.

Tolna regretted, the others crowded about us, but finally with many
salutes we were escorted from the hall.

When we were alone Saxe. advised and warned me, and Saunders shook his
head. “To think it should come true!” he muttered.

“Yes,” said Saxe., “your vision is mortal. You will realize what is
denied to most. All have ideals, those are rare that are realized.”

“Don’t congratulate him yet, boys,” chimed in Sheldon; “wait till the
‘ideal’ materializes, perhaps then he’ll want our sympathies. And,
Sally, did you really believe in the vision? But of course you did; the
effect was powerful; you gave up everything to join us.”

“I loved!” I cried, all aflame. “Sometimes I believed, again doubted;
but all the time I loved, and that leads anywhere, most often to hell!”

Saxe. threw up his hands in protest. He was not a profane man, and
Saunders suggested we retire.

Our room was spacious, luxurious, divided into four by tall granite
columns. The furniture was rich, but weighty in effect, and
fantastically carved; the beds were long, narrow and heavily padded; we
sank deep in softness, inhaling a sleep producing odor, sweet, sensuous.

Drowsily Sheldon uttered a gruesome joke, and Saxe. yawned his
preference for the bunks of his car.



                              CHAPTER XI.


We were awakened at daybreak, all seemed excitement and bustle, and with
little ceremony we were served in our room with a dainty breakfast of
delicately browned fish, fruit, and tea brewed from freshly gathered
leaves. Then they conducted us to the garden where Tolna and the
Governor waited. Both gentlemen greeted us with many polite inquiries
concerning our rest, then impressively informed us that during the night
“The Centauri” had arrived, impatient to meet the four illustrious
explorers, the brave men who dared the horrors of the north for the
benefit of science.

“You will be his guests,” Tolna informed us; “and in his superb ship
return with him to Centur.”

We bowed deeply, while the young gentleman beckoned to a man who was
leading a sextette of prancing horses, three abreast, harnessed to a
queer vehicle, a cross between a chariot and hotel bus.

The Governor entered, we followed with Tolna, who hurried forward and
caught the reins. The horses arched and high-stepped a bit to show their
mettle, then dashed into a gallop and clattered noisily through the
quiet streets, sombre with the silence of dawn. Windows were raised,
touseled heads, sleepy faces, leaned far out to see and cheer us, but
the road was clear, no swaying, pushing mob. Our departure was
altogether unexpected.

We reached the sheds as full day flooded the city. A ship, small,
elegant, glistened in the sunlight like silver. Several gentlemen
loitered at the foot of the steps, evidently waiting for us. We were
presented, then hurried aboard. The Governor, in parting, assured us
repeatedly that we would meet again. Tolna handed me a small parcel, his
eyes pleading acceptance. Saxe. could boast no longer, I was the happy
possessor of a bracelet also, composed of jade with three huge opals
sunk in the stone. With a hand-clasp I signified my appreciation, and
Tolna locked it upon the upper portion of my arm. We were deferentially
escorted to the upper deck, which was carpeted with soft, rich material,
deadening footsteps. Advancing to meet us with outstretched arms and a
wonderfully kind smile was a tall, powerful, magnificent old man. Saxe.
gave an exclamation which ended in a sigh. We all bowed in reverence. He
welcomed us. His voice had the melodious sweetness of the flute. He
invited us to his cabin, and I stared in awe at “The Centauri” of all
Centauri.

A long, patriarchal beard flowed over his breast; thick, snowy curls
reached to his shoulders. He was much darker than the average
Centaurian, with deep, piercing, magnetic, black eyes gleaming beneath
heavy black brows. He studied us each in turn, and strange, the silence
did not embarrass. While the deep eyes were riveted upon me,
unconcernedly I examined the barbaric splendor of the room.

The odd-shaped furniture glistened like crystal. There were chairs with
fluted, shell-shaped backs, cushioned in delicate pink, others molded in
forms of twisted, entwined reptiles, cushioned in chameleon green; the
effect rather created chills. There were couches, divans, heaped high
with soft, downy head-rests, the prevailing color white; and over the
whole atmosphere pervaded a sweet, almost nauseating odor. Centauri
ended the silence addressing Saxe., who in spite of his wonderful
self-control, appeared flurried.

“Your invention is remarkable, considering the era in which you live,
but superior to your inventive genius was the fabulous idea you
treasured that beyond the pivot another world existed. Your forceful
nature, powerful intellect, energy, labored to attain ambition. Such men
always succeed.” Saxe. bowed. “I have thoroughly examined your car,”
Centauri continued; “it belongs to the people and will be placed in the
museum at Centur. The government will present you with an engine
perfected with the improvements of centuries, yet you will easily
recognize your own machine. A great error was made in the use of steel;
had your instrument been molded in crystal, explosion would have been
impossible, and you would have discovered us earlier and avoided many
hardships.”

Saxe. saluted low and sweeping, but was mute. Centauri gazed steadily at
him several seconds, then as though satisfied, turned his attention to
Sheldon, who became a lively pink.

“The great, fresh water ocean was discovered centuries ago. Your theory
concerning the earth’s fresh water supply is erroneous.”

Sheldon, who was minus the bump of reverence, sharply asked: “In what
way, sir?”

Centauri smiled pleasantly. “When we reach Centur,” he said, “I will
turn you over to the Geologists, who will conduct you to view this ocean
which surges in an unfathomable hollow of the Otega, the highest
mountain in the world. It is of volcanic origin, and floods the lakes,
rivers, etc., only in its immediate vicinity.”

“Nonsense!” snapped Sheldon, regardless of everything, “I’ve delved too
deeply in the anatomy of subterranean flows to blunder. Through great
arteries in the heart of the earth this water rushes, flooding countless
natural reservoirs, and continually creating new ones. I shall
positively prove my statements before returning to my own country.”

“All the latest appliances of science shall be placed at your disposal,”
said Centauri. “Should your assertions prove correct, the discovery will
be vastly beneficial to the Centaurians. I wish you success.”

He turned to Saunders, opening conversation about the star,
“Virgillius.” “It is not a planet, nor yet a star,” he told Saunders,
who was all respectful attention, “but a moon of immeasurable dimension
and illusive distance, the after-film of a monstrous, strickened world,
gradually dissolving midst the ether of our sphere, yet completely
beyond the radius of your continent; but were it not the shadowy rays
must fail absolutely to penetrate the thick atmosphere ladened with
minute life which you people inhale. The Centaurians dare not stray over
the sharp ice summit, the poisonous disease-inflicting vapors cause
instant death. We of this land exist in a purer, clearer atmosphere. The
sun, moon and stars have no dense, fetid veil to pierce, their
beneficial rays bestow miraculous strength and rare longevity. When
crossing the earth’s summit you experienced a terrible weakening of
vital force, an intense absorption almost resulting in disaster, yet
immediately escaping the dreaded circle all underwent startling
rejuvenation, a sudden strong pulsation of restored vigor and
energy—glorious Centauri is discovered. Many animals from your continent
have strayed over the unknown regions, queer, stunted, hornless dogs,
and weazened birds of marvelous plumage. Instinct forced these creatures
to continual advancement, while man, bumptious in semi-civilization and
faltering, immature reason, invariably retrace travel the instant the
geyser pivot is sighted to perish miserably in the stampede to the
Reflection mountains. In your world undoubtedly progress is rapid, but
never will an instrument be invented sufficiently powerful to pierce the
vapory substance you call atmosphere for one ray of that mysterious,
shadowy disc so plainly visible in rarified Centauri. Professor, you
have braved many perils simply to obtain knowledge strictly beneficial
to yourself. Astronomers will accept your statements concerning the
positive existence of the phenomenon they had vaguely located, but the
desired enlightenment you wished to convey is forever concealed amid the
blinding elements. Soaring into astral convictions is fleeting
satisfaction and everlasting solitary despair.”

Centauri’s eyes actually twinkled, but Saunders was looking ugly. Like
most mild men he was stubborn and began reply in his usual deliberate,
argumentative manner.

“I regret I cannot agree with your views concerning this monstrosity of
the heavens,” he informed the great Centauri. “As I understand you, your
knowledge of the oblong radiance is as limited as mine, yet you state
positively, after declaring it of illusive distance, that it is a globe
in the lunar state, a world in decline. This is most perplexing, but
perhaps after further investigations I will agree with you. At present
permit me to state the result of my very thorough calculations. This
peculiar stellar formation I believe to be a new world developing and
have named it the planet Virgillius. Its revolution through space is
similar to Earth. Both planets present a lunar appearance to the other,
and each globe casts a semi-eclipse over the other; hence, the planet
Virgillius is invisible to astronomers of my country.

“The fetid mists, etc., enveloping only our portion of the globe is, you
will pardon me, altogether visionary. Encircling Earth is the nebulous
radiance visibly enveloping the whole planetary system. Within this
nebulous is temperature, the chart of the elements divided into five
zones. Centauri in her zones is subject to the same atmospheric
influences that envelops our continent. Your inability to cross the
polar circle is not due to contagious vapors; the icy petrification,
intangible, mystic calm of the unknown regions rouses a horrible,
freezing fear, which causes fatal physical dread—you perish. Centauri,
in frigid panic, eternally retreats, while wandering, enterprising
unenlightenment discovers. But the Centaurians, with their extensive
knowledge, vast researches and keen perception, realized the existence
of far, unknown countries, populous, progressive. We of our land, ah!
how widely different! Perception is still in the nebulous state, and
centuries will elapse before tender intellect is sufficiently sinewy to
grapple with the astounding problem that our own little hemisphere does
not embrace the universe.”

Saunders gravely bowed to the amazed and delighted old gentleman, whose
eyes now snapped with merriment. We four certainly made a huge, square
joke, but Saunders was game and Centauri smiled very kindly upon him.

“Later we shall have another discussion,” he told him. “Now you are
under a disadvantage. Possibly you will devote months, years, in
extensive observation and limitless calculation—it will be interesting
to hear all the extravagant new ideas you will form concerning
the—er—planet Virgillius. That’s what the Centaurians have been doing
for ages—are still doing—and will continue to do forever. Form theories,
theories always, never more. Baffled, they study this spectral lunar
disc, enveloped in a halo of mystery that none can penetrate. but I, I
who have solved intricate problems of the Known, and delved daringly
into the Unknown, will, must pierce the denseness of those clouds whose
form never vary.”

Which proved that these wonderful people, with their vaunted centuries
of superiority, had still to conquer the masterful passion for fame, and
struggled even as——.

Centauri mused and murmured to himself in rapt reverie, seemingly our
presence completely forgotten, yet suddenly he turned his deep eyes upon
me, his face beaming with a most engaging smile. Saunders and his
planets were dismissed. He nodded approval, evidently pleased with my
appearance.

“You are young, comely,” he told me. “What science induced you to brave
the northern perils?”

I flushed hotly, believing he ridiculed; a strange vehemence seized me.
“A phantom, myth, a creation of my brain—what you will!” I cried
eagerly. “I love, adore; the strength of my adoration will compel
response! I will possess and realize—heaven!”

I flung out my arms in a paroxysm of desire, and Centauri stared in
amazement, then spoke in severe, chilling tones, which quelled passion.
“Your task is difficult, more difficult than those of your comrades. To
them success is assured; you are doomed to failure. The Centaurians
subdued emotion centuries ago; savages, beasts alone, are controlled by
impulse. Self-government is sublime; civilization attains perfection
when passion is obliterated.”

He rose and, with a gesture, signified the interview at an end. I was
the last to salute and in passing murmured: “I have hope.”

“A false sentiment,” he replied. “Centauri is above and beyond you.”

“My God!” I gasped, yet quick as a flash replied: “Centauri is a woman!”

His eyes burned into mine. “You are courageous,” he whispered, then
abruptly, yet without offence, shut the door almost in my face.

Outside, alone upon a misty deck, we stared blankly at each other; then
Sheldon aired a grievance.

“We’ve permitted ourselves to be mauled about by this, that, and the
other; to be taken here, there, anywhere, willy-nilly; we’ve almost lost
our identity,” he grumbled. “It is well we managed some spunk before
‘The Centauri’ who, by the way, is a shrewd old cuss, and gained power
through the exaggerated estimate of the people—like many on our side.
But he’s a harmless old chap, on the decade. Look sharp about the girl,
Sally. He warned you of that himself. She’s a tartar, and as homely as
sin—there’s a great disappointment sure. Squelch the flame, think of
gain; domineering selfishness is a powerful magnet.”

“Notice how he mentioned the planet Virgillius?” squeaked Saunders.
“Why, for all his boasted knowledge he knows little more of the planet
than I do.”

“And,” sputtered Sheldon, “he claimed the great body of fresh water for
the Centaurians, called it ‘Tegao,’ or something——.”

“Good heavens, boys!” murmured Saxe., “have more respect for our host,
he is Centauri, the Great One!”

“Fiddle! he flung bouquets at you, Saxe.!” retorted Sheldon. “He’ll have
the government present you with an advanced _Propellier_—invented
centuries ago by himself—all for towing us safely across the Pole.
Traveling in crystal won’t be bad—I’ll be in full possession of the
fresh water supply, Saunders’ll have his star fenced in, and
Sally—well—er—Sally will have nothing to show—a dead romance—sweet
remembrance—and a devout thankfulness he’s well out of it.”

“Say, don’t worry about me,” I cried; “and—drop the subject all around.
The Centaurians are great people, their reception of us was superb, and
criticising them not quite up to—er—par. For instance,” I concluded,
pointing to the clouds enveloping us, “admire the—ahem!—scenery.”

“Yes, oh, yes; scenery!” mocked Sheldon:

                        “‘Clouds above,
                        Clouds to the left,
                        Clouds in front of us,
                        Vollied and thundered.’

Heard that years ago at a club entertainment—great thing, club
entertainments—something from ‘The Dandy Fifth,’ recited by a badly
frightened female who, at regular intervals, bawled: ‘Hurry, oh, hurry!’
Fine thing ‘The Dandy Fifth.’”

“Now I wonder why it’s necessary to travel in these clouds?” Saunders
testily inquired. Sheldon was about to reply wittily when several
hurrying forms loomed up through the mist. We were conducted to the
lower deck and into a gorgeous dining-room where refreshments of fruit,
heavy little cakes and mild wine was served, including the information
that Centur would be reached one hour after noon. We were shown every
courtesy and greatly entertained by the brilliant wit of these men—but
we learned nothing. It is wonderful how much can be said with so little
imparted, but Saunders finally losing patience, testily inquired why we
traveled so high in the clouds, and expressed a wish to view the earth
we sailed over. At once orders were given for the lowering of the ship
and amid bellowed commands and uneasy sounds of tightening, straining
cables, and whirring, fluttering sails, the ship suddenly slanted
sickeningly, waveringly floated, then gradually resumed the former
swift, even travel, and we were invited on deck.

A gale was blowing, whistling, shrieking icily through the riggings. We
sailed over a vast ocean of mountainous waves whose spray dashed high,
forming a wall of vapor reaching the clouds. The sensation was
terrifying, elevated in this dense moisture. The roaring ocean beneath
and oppressive, leaden clouds above—a terrifying insecurity impressive
of our insignificance. What are we after all? Mere species of atom
forming this turbulent system of entirety.

My friends, unusually silent, thoughtful, and shivering with
nervousness, gloomily listened to the affably confident Centaurians.

“The damned thing’ll cut capers and it’s all over with us!” muttered
Sheldon. Even as he spoke the ship, like a meteor, shot through the
red-black funnel cloud gathering and deepening in front of us and swayed
in a swimming darkness of thunderous detonation whose sulphurous
denseness suddenly dissolved before vivid streaks of blinding green
eruption—the next instant the sun streamed upon us with furnace rays and
land was beneath, a gloriously beautiful country, seemingly smiling wide
in welcome. Buoyantly we feasted our eyes upon the wondrous panorama, as
with lightning speed we flew over city after city, gleaming white,
glistening in the brilliant sunlight. Rivers, lakes rippled and sparkled
in wavy lines like gleaming streaks of ore. Snow-capped peaks cut the
pale, distant azure, and beyond stretched miles of prairie land. Our
attention was directed to a vast plain, and through powerful glasses we
viewed the encampment of a mighty army. Soldiers in shining armor
marched into the open, filing rank upon rank into glittering divisions.

“The camp of the Potolilis,” we were informed. “A formidable tribe of
savages at present warring upon the Octrogonas, who, though they
outnumber yonder tribe three to one, are routed continually by the
insidious Potolilis.”

The speaker delivered an oration upon the ruinous policy of war while
the ship veered easterly, sailing swiftly from the martial scene, over
extensive forests, rich valleys, and in the heat of the mid-day sun
slackened speed, floating gently over the loveliest bay I ever saw whose
deep blue, glassy waters reflected elongated, fantastic shadows of the
great white city on the coast gleaming phantom-like through a shroud of
heavy, azure mist. Borne before the mild breeze, we fluttered to the
heart of this fair city, hovering an instant in the high, intense heat,
then the ship slanted and circled downward.

Beneath was the reality of a dream-vision. A fairy palace glinted in the
sunlight with soft, rainbow tints, surrounded with gorgeous gardens
sheltered from the wilting heat by giant palms, and cooled, refreshed by
swift, ribboned streams, and slumberous pools upon whose surface floated
strange, heavy-scented blossoms.

The vessel shifted far to the rear of the irradiating palace toward the
outskirts of the wondrous gardens, where a steel trestle reared high,
supporting a great, oblong object, which slowly parted wide. The ship
sank without a jar, gently settling, the sails folded close while the
huge metal shell gradually closed together. The flying ship _Centur_ had
reached port.

Leisurely we strolled through the heavenly gardens, lingering in
admiration of the witching picturesqueness. We were told that exquisite
Centur was the divine city of Centauri—ahem! and that we were the guests
of Alpha Centauri, who would receive us some time after sunset; the
exciting interval, we understood, was to be devoted to rest. The
gentleman graciously gave us further information concerning the
greatness and exclusiveness of our hostess. We learned Alpha Centauri
was sweet, merciful, divine and the true ruler of this grand race. The
venerable Centauri existed in his laboratory. He was revered as the
father of the people, whose ancestors were the first and only rulers of
the earth.

“Not as king or chief,” the gentleman hastened to explain, “but just one
mighty man at the head of the nation whose wisdom, simplicity in ruling
brought plenty, peace and happiness. The knowledge of the Great Family
is far-reaching, a vast heirloom guarded, treasured above all their
possessions—they are protégés of the Sun, and worshipped by all
Centauri.”

The speaker clasped his hands piously. We stared, amazed, though respect
for the cleverness of Old Centauri bounded to the limit.

“Veiled Prophet and pretty Priestess,” muttered Sheldon.

“Wonder how he does it?” Saxe. murmured.

“Humbug!” I whispered.

From a cool, shaded grove of tall, slender trees with silvery leaves, we
unexpectedly stepped into a narrow, mossy path, leading to a wide,
stately piazza, with broad, sloping, velvety lawns, surrounding a great
fairy palace of three domes, delicate spires and strange zigzag
balconies flashing myriad tints in the glaring hot sunshine; a bizarre
structure, out of all proportion, with queer, protruding circular rooms,
and high, broad windows facing every direction; a palatial sun-dwelling
whose architectural incongruity was submerged in royal magnificence.

We entered the columned vestibule, cool, lofty, lit with uncertain
tints, and almost saluted a marvelously sculptured form near the
entrance. A fatherly individual greeted us, then immediately conducted
us to our apartments. Silently we followed down the broad arched hall,
up wide, flat stairways, carpeted with silver-gray softness, and were
ushered to our quarters. A suite of five rooms, four sleeping apartments
and a sitting-room reserved for criticisms, which forethought proved the
superior perceptiveness of these advanced people. Following prevalent
customs of our land we’d been separated as far apart as the Poles, and
not till we’d escaped could we get together close enough to compare
notes and whisper of the invariable peculiarities of surroundings.

Ruby-tinted wine, heavy, hard to carry; luscious fruit and strange nuts
were served to us with a delicately-flavored cigar, which proved
exceptionally inviting, creating the visionary and a decided distaste
for conversation, then a sudden, acute realization of fatigue and
finally compelling slumber. Faintly I heard Sheldon mutter something
about “sleep producing weed,” but in numb indifference I soared beyond
this sphere of sordid events, slumbering for hours. The evening was well
advanced when my three friends awakened me, crowing, yes, crowing,
because their sleep ended before mine.

“And on the eve of beholding the divinity,” Sheldon chirped. I sprang up
as the room suddenly flared with light and several attendants entered.

“To make us beautiful,” Sheldon remarked.

We were shaved, perfumed and attired in gorgeous raiment. The customary
suit of black, which I preferred, would have created a sensation, but we
looked rather well. Saxe. was superb in purple, wearing Octrogona’s
armlet of emeralds, and the strange ring of Potolili gleamed upon his
hand. Sheldon imagined himself fascinating in claret-shaded folds, and
Saunders in a gray toga, sniffed at us disdainfully. I strutted,
satisfied, arrayed in white with a rich ornamental border of gold. The
finery polished up our tarnished gallantry, yet each felt an inward
quivering excitement which we vainly strove to conceal in personalities.
I twitted them all for their conceit—they were not a bad looking
trio—retaliation was fierce. Sheldon, being a lady’s man, threw out his
chest and dark hints concerning the end of the week wherein a certain
“smarty” would be wondering what he came over here for and he (Sheldon)
would be the bright, shining light of the quartette.

Our fun hushed as a magnificent individual entered, bowing
ceremoniously. He gave his name, which we immediately forgot when he
stated he came to conduct us to Her Graciousness, Alpha Centauri.

God! I felt the hot flush rush to my head, then ebb away, and shuddered
with sudden chill. Sheldon, ever alert for mischief, glanced my way
sharply, then declared I turned the famous “ashen hue,” though he could
see no occasion for alarm—there were others—the fair Alpha might—ahem!
And twirled his little old mustachios, and leered.

Saxe. took my arm, murmuring encouragingly, while the splendid stranger
smiled warmly, sympathetically, and not at all like a party who had
burned all his passions centuries ago.

We hurried down the columned hall, brilliant with reflecting lights
gleaming from panel and dome. Low, sweet music greeted our ears, and
judging by the hubbub there were many people waiting to meet us. Through
wide arched entrances we caught glimpses of a great banquet hall, whose
mirrored walls reflected myriad hues flashing upon jewels of gorgeously
attired guests. A dazzling scene of fabulous grandeur alcoved with a
background like a gigantic painting; a dimly-lit miniature forest
stretched wide beyond, restful, quieting, in rich green tints, and the
refreshing splash of perfumed fountains cooled the air.

We stepped within this radiant magnificence. At once conversation
ceased, all eyes were focused upon us. But I—ah!—was oblivious to all
things; my whole attention chained to the tall, statuesque form of a
woman. Masses of jetty, rippling tresses reached the hem of her gown,
and perched upon her head, yet fitting closely, revealing perfect
outlines, was a cap of dull gold ornamented with slender spikes, a huge
gem flashing in the center. She turned and quickly advanced. We bowed
low before the majestic dignity of her bearing. And the face! divine,
beautiful, darkly tinted, heavy-browed, with deep, strange eyes, whose
cold, meaningless, unresponsive stare flashed a dead chill to my heart.
God! how common, matter-of-fact the world suddenly appeared. That one
moment of terrible disappointment corrupted forever the divine imagery
of my heaven. Oh, the folly of looking forward to realizing the crimson
vividness of our imagination with Hope, dazzling white, ever circling
mid the black dizziness of Disappointment. Yet a life overlooked by
these profound calamities is an existence of deepest damnation. But the
phantom that roused an idyllic passion stood revealed, and the sombre,
chilling orbs were powerfully magnetic. Robed in clinging white,
barbarously decked with blazing jewels, she repelled, yet fascinated,
compelling the gaze.

She greeted Saxe. with a voice of music, low, sweet, each word distinct.
I gasped with the sudden bound my heart gave and clutched Sheldon, as
she smiled, then threw back her head with a light laugh. Something Saxe.
said amused her. The roseate, smiling phantom was realized; and
ecstatically, passionately, with burning, delighted glances, I watched
this regal, glorious woman, my first disappointment completely
forgotten.

“Easy, easy,” Sheldon murmured. “Don’t blame you, but easy, easy. I——”
He saluted deeply the radiant welcome she gave him, and I—I raised her
hand to my lips, kissing it twice, thrice. It closed over mine, cold,
firm. She watched my action calmly, gravely, passionless; and I, my
ardor chilled, remained speechless with emotion.

She was an imperfect woman—a rare blossom blighted before full
bloom—hard, freezing, as the terrible ice mountains I had crossed to
meet her.

Imperiously she bade me follow her. We were alone, my three friends
having wisely strolled away. She led to the alcoved greenery, heavy with
the sweet, powerful odor of wonderful exotic plants.

Silently we wandered beneath tall palms and trees of thick foliage,
whose branches housed gorgeously plumed, shrill songsters.

I plucked a deep crimson flower and attempted to place it in her hair.
She stood quite still, but the task was beyond me. In exasperation I
crushed the blossom, then stooping, suddenly pressed a kiss upon the
lovely shoulder. She turned sharply.

“What’s the difference!” I cried passionately. “With my eyes I kiss you
constantly!”

“Pretty boy,” she murmured musingly. “I have seen you before. I do not
remember where.”

I cursed my lack of control as she led me into the glare of brilliant
lights again and bade me be seated at a small table in full view of the
fantastically garbed banqueters.

Sheldon was seated between two beautiful women, and all in his vicinity
were convulsed with laughter. He was proving himself a wit even among
these advanced people. Saunders was explaining something of vast
importance, I could almost hear his nasal, bilious tones; and dear old
Saxe. had the seat of honor. He had cleared a space in front of him, and
with his forefinger was drawing marvelous circles and triangles upon the
satiny damask, his every movement watched closely by eager, enthusiastic
admirers.

A brilliant scene, this banquet hall, with its crystal walls flashing
blinding lights, and I, my senses drugged with the sensuous ether of
this rich, tropical idyl, served with strange delicacies and rare wines,
basking in the intoxicating smiles of a glorious dream-vision, whose
eyes were more potent than wine—Centauri! Yes; a marvelous picture, a
masterpiece of the fabulous whose wonderful unreality was before me,
yet—I realized. And for all the splendor of rioting radiance and
hilarious music a heavy gloom overwhelmed me, a dull foreboding of the
future, a glimpse of a great sorrow, a blighted life. The dark shadow of
awakening obscured the vast, soft-tinted halo—my dream was not Paradise,
nor was the enchantress an angel. She and all her world were now aware
why I crossed the frigid north—to pluck the fairest blossom from a
garden of rare flowers.

She conversed in low tones, her words few, just clever, tactful
encouragement. She drew me out, rousing the best in me. The familiar
conversational meaningless chatter had no place here. Alpha Centauri
differed widely from the women of my world. I longed to tear from her
face the stony mask that so marred its beauty. In my hopelessly
enamoured state I swore it was a mask, yet beneath my searching, ardent
gaze she calmly questioned.

With astonishing eloquence I described that portion of the globe from
whence I hailed, which, divided into numerous nations, cordially hated
each other with a hatred bred in the blood and concealed in the blatant
roar of deadly patriotism—the terrible, unspeakable carnage of warfare.
I dwelled long upon the beautiful, and Art, and the great strides made
in mechanism. I talked for hours, it seemed. I told her of my life, my
great wealth and many, many disappointments, and had reached that point
in my career when the vision of herself had appeared. She was intensely
interested, leaning dangerously near, while the expression of her deep
eyes made me reckless. Passion mastered. I caught her hand and pressed
my lips upon palm and wrist, while in broken tones I told of my love.

“I worship you!” I murmured huskily. “I love, adore you!”

She gazed perplexed, yet a reflection of my passion shone in her glance;
a reflection only, then she smiled, faintly amused.

“Love,” she murmured. “What is love? A woman, a child, or a fancy? Once,
centuries ago,” she continued, “love ruled Centauri; now knowledge
reigns supreme; the master of the universe.”

“Without love life is imperfect,” I hastened to assure her.

She looked puzzled, curious.

“I do not understand,” she muttered. “All know of Love, but no one ever
experienced it. Centuries ago this dead science had many students. You
must visit the museum, Virgillius; it contains many rare works of art.
There are three gigantic sculptured forms that absorb the attention. Two
are particularly noticeable for crudeness, representing Art in the
primitive beautiful. They were discovered in the caves of the Ocstas,
and have been traced back 5,000 years. Each represents Love, one a woman
of immense, but perfect proportions; the other a winged child. The third
is an enormous statue revealing the touch of genius, stationed near the
others, possibly for contrast to prove the progress of Art. Exquisite in
perfection, every line and curve wrought by a master’s hand, a man and
woman smile upon each other out of shapeless stone, her lovely head
rests upon his massive shoulders, his arms clasp her perfect form
closely. Art has progressed little since then and now is rapidly
approaching the abnormal. From these three monstrous carvings we judge,
hence: Love is a primitive desire; Fancy, a cultivation of early
civilization, and Knowledge crowns all. I would know more of this
powerful, forceful science that once controlled the world.”

She rose and moved slowly toward the dim interior of this leafy retreat
and sank upon a mossy bank near the refreshing coolness of perfumed
waters. I flung myself at her feet. A huge instrument resembling a harp
was wheeled towards her. It had two sets of golden wires in a casement
of crystal. Her white hands strayed idly over the wires—the vision in
the burning globe was before me—then under her powerful touch a volume
of music rang—sweet, wild melody, and she who declared Love a dead
science portrayed upon her instrument all the emotions of the human
heart. Deep tones of passion thrilled and trembled, the strident howl of
rage, hatred; the laugh of envy, the wail of anguish, all rang out
clearly beneath her inspired touch. I gazed at her in doubt and
amusement. Perceiving my glance she murmured: “Knowledge’s tuition is:
All emotions have their note of melody, rhythm.”

“You worship Knowledge,” I told her; “you can adore man.”

“I know nothing of your country,” she replied: “yet in your far zone,
centuries ago, there were customs that never could be re-established—you
have progressed above them. This strange sentiment you uphold is not of
the intellect, the children of Centauri are followers of the divine
light blessed with calmness, peace.”

“Love still rules Centauri; your own words prove it!” I exclaimed
stubbornly. “Knowledge is bait. You people are greatly advanced, but in
love the whole world is equal. Pride, ambition, seeks Wisdom. We upon
our side also bend the knee to Elevation. The passion for Fame, Glory is
supreme. Love is the title for a thousand emotions—Greed, Wealth,
Position—and sacrificial crimes are committed hourly to obtain them.
Then there is the much-vaunted maternal love, the most unreliable of all
instincts. I have known the life of a daughter made miserable, the sweet
freshness of youth blighted in cynical thoughts roused by a pretty,
passé, selfish, knife-tongued mother. Maternal affection! bah! it ceases
the moment individuality is attained, thrusting aside yokish, slavish
control. Show me the human being who appreciates the monstrous favor of
birth. Is the Innocent responsible for creative desire? Yet not till
dissolution does Result escape the harpy Reminder. There is the
soul-inspiring passion for the One Woman—a grand affair of a few days,
chiefly experienced in this metallic period by very young girls, very
old men and, occasionally for relaxation, a staid family man
indulges——!!! I could talk for months upon this theme; it could never be
exhausted; but you, Centauri, I worship! love as no man ever loved! I
will be patient, wait years, if in the end I can teach you to truthfully
say: ‘Virgillius, I love you.’” She gazed at me wonderingly.

“To experience this marvelous sensation, to master the art of love I
would study years; for all things I must know. Strange,” she continued,
“this absorbing science should have become obsolete.”

Suddenly she leaned closer, her great eyes blazed, her face paled with
intensity. “Of your journey across the Pole,” she whispered, “you must
tell me minutely; the atmospheric influences, the state of the land, the
great fiery geyser shooting up from the bowels of the earth. In the
privacy of my rooms you will describe everything. I, Alpha, noted for
her wisdom, would remedy, overpower the evils of nature. The benighted
pivot regions shall become habitable. I will control the atmosphere. The
laws of creation are desecrated by that monstrous icy waste. Earth is
the vast estate of humanity, and the mystery, richness of that world of
frigid savageness was destined for progression to conquer. I shall
realize the stupendous ambition of civilization. The reward?
Immortality, ah, immortality!”

She arose, erect in her superb pride and the flow of language was
magnificent in the lengthy scientific explanation she gave of how she
intended to vanquish the sleeping north. I was not sufficiently familiar
with the language to follow her clearly, but this I did understand, were
I not so desperately enamoured I certainly would have found her tedious.
All intensely intellectual women are tedious. The idea of love is always
more poignant than love, and I realized the task of teaching this
strange creature the science of affection would be a heavy one.

Softly, musingly, she continued her learned explanations. Science
absorbed her; the exquisite flower face grew cold, hard, expressionless.
My romantic imagination lingered around this beautiful, fascinating
enigma, illusive, desirable, yet every word she uttered forced the
realization of an infinite barrier of remoteness—a phantom ever. But we
can ardently worship the moon, and my rapt gaze finally drew her
attention. Slowly she passed her hand over her brow, then abruptly asked
if I comprehended all she said.

“Every word,” I replied gallantly.

“Then I must see you again,” she told me.

I sprang to my feet in alarm. “Was it not your intention to see me
again?” I asked.

“I encounter new faces daily,” she answered. “They sail from my vision
as the clouds overhead. You have interested me. I have mentioned the
secret—my daring secret—from you I can learn much that is important.
Yes, I must see you again.”

“I am to teach you the lost science,” I murmured, going close; “you have
not forgotten?”

She glanced vaguely, then suddenly leaning toward me laughed softly,
while her whisper thrilled. “Already I am learning the art of Love—it
begins with attraction, sympathy; ends with ennui. Should the student
survive these three emotions he has achieved the enthralling, submerging
flame of desire. Each atom of humanity is a world in itself, a shell
covering of volcanic emotions; passion is the eruption, fierce,
unwholesome, fleeting, leaving a wide swath of cinderous reflections
tossed by the violent current of zephyric reason and gradually uplifted
to the celestial heights of serenity, repose. Virgillius, we shall study
together, for I must know all things. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I think I do,” I told her; “and you have naught to learn except
experience. This I shall compel you to realize, thereby giving you a dim
perception of heaven and hell.”

With half-closed eyes she smiled. “We have talked hours, Virgillius, and
said nothing. I can tarry with you no longer; on the morrow we shall
meet again.”

“I have been very happy,” I whispered.

“Happy!” she cried incredulously. “Since creation the Centauris have
been searching for happiness and believe when all mysteries are solved
the chimera is theirs.”

“My happiness is with you, Centauri!” I cried passionately. “I love you!
I love you!”

She shook her head as though I was a spoiled child, then with a sweet,
insinuating smile, departed. Rapturously I feasted my eyes upon her as
she joined the guests, she the radiant, dazzling center of a bevy of
bewitching beauties. I was consumed with ardent longings and flashed
dangerous glances at Her Sereneness, but gay, exhilarating music wafting
in from the gardens roused me from languorous meditations, and out of
the dim, heavy-odored retreat into the brilliant, chameleon-glinting
hall, scintillating with mirth and wit.

Bold, debonair, I joined the revelers—how exquisitely fair were the
women of this strange land!

I found Saxe. flushed with wine, haranguing learnedly and emphasizing
his remarks with sweeping gestures. The subject was beyond my
comprehension, but the intellectual circle about him were absorbed.
Saxe. monopolized their attention entirely. He informed me before I left
the group that he had made engagements, including the four of us, for
the following day and told me to advise the others of it.

I strayed over to Sheldon, who was in his element making others happy.
He was the center of a jovial set, and judging by the gayety was
certainly amusing. I was too deeply in love to perceive the point of his
jests, and out of my sphere sought Saunders, after learning, to my
dismay, that Sheldon also had made engagements including all of us for
the following day. Saunders, to my thinking, was the least interesting
of the quartette. He had assumed his stilted, speech-making manner, and
was lecturing on the hazy, mystic beauties of the great planet
Virgillius to these people who knew more about the star than he did. I
grew irritable, bored, and wrathily wondered if he, too, had arranged
that we be taken somewhere on the morrow. Covertly I watched my
inamorata, passive, calm of face, taller, darker, more beautiful than
any woman in Centauri. Dare I approach such chilling loftiness? Yes; and
subdue, overpower with the potency of my own passion.

Alpha Centauri shall be mine! We were born for each other—just a sweet
woman of this earth, nothing more; else could she create desire? Boldly
I forced my way to her side, determined to sweep away the tantalizing
indifference. I would command her thoughts, then—— Ah, how irrational
are dreams! Before her calm, expressionless regard my passion quelled.
She was kind; yes, a dead kindness, as with a few words and slight
inclination this regal woman passed from the hall. I hastened after her;
she lingered reluctantly beneath the lofty arch. “Rest well,
Virgillius,” she murmured sweetly; “in a few hours we meet again.”

I bent deeply before her, but glanced up quickly at the sound of a low
laugh—she was gone.

Her departure signaled the end of festivities, and after many
salutations and best wishes we four found ourselves alone in the vast
hall, staring vaguely at each other. The lights grew dim, casting
ghostly reflections in the mirrored spaciousness, and chilled with the
deathly silence pervading this marvelous crystal palace we hurried to
our apartments, where several very sleepy individuals awaited us, whom
we promptly dismissed.

“To-morrow we go through the museum,” Saxe. informed us.

“Yes, and take in the city,” echoed Sheldon.

“And in the evening,” cried Saunders excitedly, “we visit the
Observatory, situated upon a mountain somewhere. My acceptance is for
all of us. I fancy this engagement the most important.”

“Are you at leisure to accompany us, Sally?” asked Sheldon
insinuatingly; “or do instructions begin at once? No occasion to stare,”
he replied to my look; “you have not been secretive. The women over here
are all alike. When time hangs heavy and my mind unoccupied, I am to
teach a couple of sweet morsels the art of love also, which, it seems,
only the ancients knew anything about. Innocence, however, is a thorough
accomplishment in this wonderful land of advancement. It will take
centuries of progression before the charm of this trait is valued by the
women of our world. Knowledge is the admitted great passion over here,
the foundation of existence, etc., and sought from cradle to grave, even
then not abandoned; hence, the Centauri brain is ever active, verdant,
and dogged ennui as Love is a dead evil. Here a man is judged by deeds
and what he knows, not by what he’s worth. Wealth, the common, is
thought of with indifference, poverty has become obsolete. You see I did
not waste my time this evening and, Sally, you have a powerful rival.
You will lose, of course; that’s what you came over here for, to
experience a losing game, never having done so before. But look sharp,
ice-crusted volcanoes are risky toys. Notice anything peculiar about the
remarkable Alpha? Certainly not; you are too much in love,” he added
hastily, not giving me time to reply. “She is different from all the
women of this land. The first Centauri was an off-shoot of the Potolili
or Octrogona tribes—mark that! She has colored blood. I suspected it
when I saw the old boy; but one glance at your divinity and all doubts
vanished.”

“She is the most beautiful woman in the world!” I cried hotly.

“She is ravishingly beautiful,” he replied; “but no white woman looks
quite as she does. She is superb, but——. Take care, Sally, should you
tire, as you are apt to—all men do—Centauri would be a dangerous place
for us.”

He stretched and yawned, while I, too full of emotion to retort, glared
scornfully. He laughed good-humoredly as I hastened to my apartment.



                              CHAPTER XII.


The following day dawned clear, bright and hot. The heat irritated
Sheldon and inspired orative propensities in Saxe.; both were engaged in
argument as I entered the room reserved for—er—gossip.

“They are certainly a cold-blooded, soulless race,” agreed Saxe. to
Sheldon’s testy exclamation:

“Fish!”

“The result of over-civilization,” continued Saxe. with merciless
deliberation. “They have reached the acme of that which we deem
impossible, yet gaze upon in all its remarkable rarity—Perfection. And
in the whole universe I see nothing so imperfect; yet these people are
sublimely satisfied with themselves, their complacency and faith in
their superiority is superb—I wouldn’t be one of them! In their
marvelous conceit they have dared penetrate and would crush Nature’s
final repose. Their indefatigable search for knowledge is spurred by the
belief that everlasting existence is accomplished in conquering all
mysteries. Death to them is full realization, having solved the problem
of joy they forfeited immortality. Earth is their Paradise; they and
their world beyond have reached perfection—there is nothing beyond.”

I hastened to change the subject. Saxe.’s words filled me with horror as
I thought of the beautiful girl whose supreme ambition was for
immortality, which she expected to gain through deeds, not death.
Knowledge would be the ruination of this grand race. Saxe. spoke the
truth, but I would not believe, and accused him of hasty judgment and
ever on the alert for effect. He shook his head, gravely reiterating his
statements of the “strange, repellant Centaurians,” from whom he would
learn all he could, considering them, from a scientific point of view,
most interesting. He emphatically preferred the Potolilis and
Octrogonas.

I hurried to the gardens to avoid further discussions, but my friends
soon joined me. We strolled beneath gigantic trees, enjoying their cool,
quiet protection from the fierce sunlight. Strange flowers grew in
profusion, flowers of massive beauty and sickening-sweet fragrance.

“Monstrosities—flowers—Centaurians!” snapped Saxe., still harping on the
subject that made me realize the full meaning of despair.

I passionately loved the beautiful Centaurian who ruled over this
abnormal civilization, whose demise meant—bah! does Saxe. know any more
about it than the rest of us? Impatiently I turned away, colliding with
a huge bush glorious in bloom, whose exquisite flower of transparent
whiteness petaled a star-shaped, golden heart. Instantly the beautiful,
heavy, fragrant clusters enslaved the senses with a strange, ecstatic
glamour. The compelling personality of the siren I worshipped roused
vivid, overpoweringly, crowding from my mind all obnoxious warnings.
Impulsively I plucked the gorgeous witch flowers, and with fervent
message sent them to the fairest, most beautiful woman in all the world.
The reply was brief, characteristic, despairing. Alpha Centauri was
thankful I had rested well (which I hadn’t mentioned), and trusted I
would find the day full of enjoyment. She would receive me when I
returned from the Observatory.

“Damn the Observatory!” I blurted out.

“Another man, no fake!” chirped Sheldon in his usual consoling manner.
“A fine girl like that, of course, has admirers.”

“I don’t believe it!” I bawled.

“Centur is not interested in your beliefs,” he retorted; “and—oh, well,
have it any way that’s tickling. She’s been waiting all her life
for—er—you, dear boy.”

He snickered, while I, with growing excitement, declared my intention of
shirking the Observatory.

“Bravo, Sally! my suggestion exactly,” Sheldon laughed. “The Observatory
will come later; it always does—just one particular twinkler now; when
that pales——.”

A number of gentlemen unexpectedly joined us. Apparently they had been
waiting for us somewhere and I was cheated out of my reply.

Sheldon fairly shook with exasperating enjoyment as he manœuvred to
prevent me getting any closer to him than a block.

We were escorted to the museum, our way leading mostly through the vast
gardens of the palace. From time to time along the route groups of
gentlemen casually joined us until, as Sheldon elegantly expressed it,
we ought to be tagged or the Pound might take us for the lost tribe of
Roman-Jews and get rude.

We strolled along in pairs and groups. I was tolled off to a set of
pretty, babbling inconsequents, whose beauty, gracefulness and
astonishing interest displayed in Sheldon’s witticisms impressed me
rather favorably. I amused myself watching Saxe. as he cleverly juggled
with the people he thought so little of, making them his friends; but
finally bored into deep meditation completely forgot them all, even the
beardless fashionables, whom the Centaurians considered my class, who,
uneasy, at my absent-mindedness, uncongeniality, slyly slipped away one
by one. Unnoticed I escaped down a side path, where a sea of pink bloom
tempted me to wander in amazed admiration through a veritable forest of
waxen lilies. But their roseate beauty, fragrance failed to lighten the
gloom that now gripped desperately. For the first time in my life I
realized my own individual worth. Stripped of wealth, the ruling deity
of my world, I stood revealed an ordinaire without talent or
inspiration, a dissatisfied nondescript riling at fate, limited in the
higher treasures of enlightenment before which this fair, radiant land
of mighty ideals kneeled. Saxe., Sheldon, Saunders and myself, had
battled with northern horrors to discover—same evil old world of
sordidness, shoddily veneered, ranting victory over impulse, but
coveting, struggling, for the imaginary power of knowing all things.

I had neglected to bring my one potent charm, and out of my sphere,
bitter with disappointment, crazed with love-sickness, in a frenzy of
desire I vowed—vowed to possess the One Woman, who from her pedestal of
aloofness roused such reverential awe. She who would solve all mysteries
shall realize the joy, sorrow of savagery.

Before the masterful emotion of possession, tumultuous ravings
evaporated. My mind cleared, freshened as a mid-summer’s day after a
cooling shower, and from a sweet, calm reverie, I was suddenly roused by
my own ringing laughter. After all, these marvelously enlightened people
were not so different from us—the whole world avoids a man in love.

I emerged from the forest of blush lilies; a wide waste of velvety lawn
stretched far to the east, and nestling in a hollow of soft emerald, a
long grotesque structure of ivory whiteness gleamed. It was the museum.
The entrance stood wide and I entered a lofty, tiled hall, the walls
wondrously carved; fabulous monstrosities leered from all sides. I
stepped into a spacious room hung with hand-woven silks and rare
tapestries of intricate design, rich scarfs of delicate raised beading
represented scenes of a strange, unknown period. There were peculiar
wall ornaments in circular and diamond shapes. Queer conical baskets,
varying in size from a thimble to a trunk woven from human hair, the
various shades blending exquisitely in quaint patterns. There were
curious pouches, chatelaines and many dainty toilet articles, made from
the damask leather of pulped flowers, the odor after unknown centuries
clinging pungently to the crushed blossoms.

I strolled from one department to the other crowded with priceless
curios. It was impossible to view everything in a single day, but I did
good work in the few hours I spent there, and during my stay in Centur
visited the museum many times.

Most of the morning glided away as I lingered before great jewel cases,
containing superb gems. I marveled at the rare, beautiful settings, and
queer golden ornaments covered with weird inscriptions; great golden
urns, shaped like a bishop’s mitre, and tongueless bells engraved with
heathenish figures, and apart by itself was an enormous block of gold
cut with minute carvings and hierographic writings, with a monstrous
ruby like a rose-bud sunk in the center. The tiny carvings represented
vital epochs in the history of Centauri, and the great ruby heart would
evaporate when Centauri ceased—the sentiment was very pretty.

I curiously examined numerous trays of beads, their glaring colors
blended gorgeously in barbaric settings. These articles were treasured
because worn by the first Centauris, and for centuries had ceased to be
manufactured. The few remaining strings in Saxe.’s collection were
vastly superior in make and no doubt, in many eloquent speeches, he
would be requested to donate them to the museum.

I wandered into a great long picture gallery. The walls hung with rare
old paintings—these people had their “old masters” also. For over an
hour I remained before a huge painting; it seemed one could enter the
pictured room and converse with the vividly animated faces, brightened
with such friendly, expressive eyes. In the foreground the figure of a
woman reclined upon a golden couch swathed in flimsy material, ill
concealing her dusky beauty. Deep, burning eyes gleamed intensely, heavy
masses of dark hair fell all around her. She was beautiful, fascinating,
yet repelled. The passionate eyes were cruel, the lovely mouth drooped,
cold, cynical; yet there was a startling resemblance between this
divinity of past ages and the woman I adored. The ancient Queen was
feline, treacherous, and the living beauty——? I was informed the
portrait was a splendid likeness of the first woman to rule the
Centaurians. Her reign had been one of culture and prosperity. She
existed during the era of Love, and was Alpha the First. All the women
of the Great Family have been named after her. “There is a wonderful
resemblance between the portrait and the present Alpha,” I remarked.

My informant lowered his eyes. The glamour of awe, reverence, had been
well ground into these people. Apparently the present Alpha was sacred
and beyond comparison. The political situation of this great country
could be regarded any way it pleased the Centaurians, but their Alpha
was their Queen.

The worshipful gentleman spoke, his voice trembling with pride. “The
present Alpha is divine,” he told me.

I saluted.

“And,” he continued, “the painting that so interests you represents the
Centaurians just emerging from the savage state.”

“Ah, bravo!” We bowed deeply to each other and, admiringly. I watched
him as he strolled leisurely away.

For some time I lingered, studying the untamed beauty of Alpha the
First, then as the echo of voices reached me, and fearing to encounter
those who had failed to notice my absence, I hurried ahead through
luxurious apartments furnished in the silken modernness of my world and
rested secure in a dimly-lit room crowded with primitive earthenware,
grotesque pottery and cooking utensils. Progression had neatly divided
the apartment. Near where I stood were shelves of ancient bric-a-brac
and clay crockery of unique design and molding. There were tall, shining
pedestals and enormous fat vases, and behind a hideous idol with white
eyes, I hid till sure those I wished to avoid had passed on.

I wandered aimlessly, marveling at the fabulous antiquity, and finally
anchored in a vast department of massive machinery. Here progression had
made rapid strides; you could follow it from the crude, primitive, to
perfected mechanism. I came across a curiously devised instrument, raw,
immature, yet very similar to Saxe.’s lost _Propellier_. His invention,
however, was the idea perfected, and to excite comparison and prove the
superiority of his own instrument he intended constructing a new machine
and present it to the museum.

I examined strange traveling conveyances, uncouth, chariot-shaped, and
laughed at the repetition of custom—chariots were in use at the present
time. There were huge ocean liners, and bulky, high-masted sailing
vessels, and ominous, sullen battleships. The railroad was ludicrously
represented in complete trains of heavy, lumbersome coaches, drawn by
gigantic engines, as different from the locomotives of our world as the
two halves of the globe. The first aerial machine, though a complete
failure, had its niche in this colossal exposition. Tragic was its
history, a score or more lives sacrificed to the inventor’s ambition.
Navigable balloons came later, marking progress, success, in various
forms. Most were square at the base with toy wind-mills for propellers,
and if they sailed the air, all right; but not even Centauri could tempt
me to enter one. Devilish implements of war and monstrous instruments of
torture occupied a vast space, catalogued according to history with
civilization glaringly noticeable in the learning of refined
fiendishness. It was fascinating to follow up the perpetual advancement
of inhumanity. From primitive ingenuity of the antediluvian age one
stepped through the periods of enlightenment, reaching the zenith of
hostile progression through an awful device, creating instantaneous
blindness. This exhausted the age of war, but the exquisite cruelty of
these people continued to advance. Instruments of frightful torture were
extensively arrayed, foul infernal machines to whose ingenious
devilishness nothing, nothing in the universe could compare—the
Centaurians have not always been saints (?).

Constant civilization simplifies the miraculous, but savagery exists as
long as life’s fluid stains red.

I lost no time in getting away from the room of horrors with its
loathsome exhibit of man’s satanic genius, and hastened down a narrow,
serpentine passage, plunging unexpectedly through a swinging brass net
door. A flood of light greeted me and I blinked and gaped in confusion.
I had stumbled into the midst of a large assemblage of gigantic men and
women whose stone countenances welcomed me with every variety of
expression. There were joyful, beaming smiles, and fierce glances of
forbiddance, but all diffidence vanished before the sweet witchery of
invitation. I had reached the hall of wonderful sculpture and at once
sought the three famous loves of Centauri.

Perfection in art had been attained during the era of passion; plainly
genius is a savage taint. The deadening of all emotion is productive of
the marvelous in science, but abnormity is the result of too advanced
civilization. In this motley collection acquired and natural inspiration
is easily discernible and progression traceable in gradual sections. The
Centaurians had reached the inartistic height and realized it. They
treasured antiquity above all the miraculous inventions of modern times.

Conspicuously set apart and above in lofty azure niches, the three grand
passions of the dark ages gazed down upon their stone dominion. I paused
before a colossal figure in quartz richly veined with gold, a form of
heavy, generous proportions, a dull, stupid face—this was Love. The
sculptor was a master, but lacked originality, expression, and judging
him by his work, he’d found Love deucedly slow. His winged child,
however, was exquisite, but failed to impress, being the same fat,
little boy trying to fly that we’re all familiar with.

The third Love was produced in a later generation and tantalized with
enticement. The artist betrayed a cynical, humorous genius in every
curve of his exquisite creation and had transformed a huge block of
virgin marble into a pair of lovers. It was the work of a visionary, the
human form never reached such absolute divinity.

A feminine figure of petite, delicate loveliness was passionately
clasped in the massive arms of a herculean Adonis, who gazed rapturously
into the upturned flower face, fascinating in winsome, diablier beauty.
The pose was ideal. This risque conception was “Fancy,” and I laughed
softly as I figured out the situation. Each fancied, desired, toyed with
the other, both were superficial; and the sculptor, after varied
experience, happily discovered that Love was merely a fleeting
disturbance. Vaguely I wondered if anything so incredulous could be
true, and devoutly hoped so. Centauri I loved, fiercely desired, but
should the end be disastrous I would give all my wealth to have the
madness flit airily away into convenient, mischievous “Fancy.” Not
caring to mar the delightful, whimsical impression this astounding
phantasy made upon me, I left the museum.

The morning was far advanced—noon, I judged by the sun. There wasn’t a
soul in sight, just a broad expanse of calm and peace throbbing beneath
a scorching sun, and my enchanting forest of vermilion flickered,
sultry, seemingly hundreds of miles away. I decided to go to the city.
It was a long tramp, but I rested frequently in cool green parks, shaded
by giant trees. Houses at first were few, quaintly picturesque,
surrounded with beautiful gardens and orchards. Soon this lovely rural
simplicity gave way to broad avenues lined with costly residences, but
after awhile, though the uniformed elegance was very impressive, I
wearied of the monotonous similarity of the odd domed buildings,
glistening with a greenish lustre. It was this sea lustre which caused
Sheldon to exclaim, when beholding the palace of Centauri, “A palace of
crystal!”

Houses were not crushed together as seen in our cities. Each building
was centered in a spacious square and all surrounded with high, solid
walls. Curious, I examined this wall. The surface was smooth, shiny and
cold. I decided the foundation was of stone veneered with a combination
of—er——.

A short distance ahead a gentleman stepped from one of the gardens and I
hastened to join him. He had no objection to my company; the Centaurians
are a genial, social race. It was not long, however, before he
discovered I was “one of the four strangers who had crossed,” etc., and
he hung like a burr. He was full of information, tedious with lengthy
explanations—he went clear around the city to reach a point just across
the street, and I watched for a chance to lose him, deciding finally to
excuse myself and streak up another avenue, when suddenly he grasped my
arm, murmuring: “The hour of worship,” and rushed me ahead to avoid the
people trooping from houses and gardens who swelled the great throng
that gradually swooped upon us. In the crush I lost my friend, but could
see him peering for me in all directions and cheerfully eluded him. I
was forced along, wondering at the destination of this dense, silent
throng, all so hurried and earnest, traveling with settled purpose in
one direction. Women, vividly beautiful with health; men, muscular,
powerful in their strength; children, fresh with a cherubic loveliness;
a fascinating crowd. Suddenly loud shouts of warning rang clear on the
sultry air, I heard the clattering of horses’ hoofs upon the hard
pavement: the crowd parted with shrill cheers and a chariot drawn by
plunging white horses flew by. A woman stood erect, holding with one
hand the reins guiding the flying steeds, the other was pointed to the
heavens. A woman tall, straight, a goddess with dark tresses floating in
the breeze.

“Alpha Centauri!” I gasped.

“Aye, Alpha Centauri,” the man next to me answered.

“Priestess of the Sun!” cried a second.

“The bride of Knowledge, whose wedding gift was divinity,” murmured a
third. And it is all very pretty, I thought, and what a poetical,
sentimental race these people are.

Steadily pressing onward, with constant reinforcements trooping from
every avenue, the crush became alarming, but finally we entered a wide
park and in relief the people spread like a great, black wave over the
green lawn thinning to an obelisk peak toward a shining temple, with
glistening steeples topped with huge golden globes. The bronze portals
stood wide and, carried along by the rush of devout Centaurians, I
entered a place dark with the chill of a sepulchre. My eyes accustomed
to the brilliant sunlight at first could distinguish nothing, but
gradually the darkness lifted. I was in a house of worship crowded with
a kneeling, reverent congregation. Ignorant of what they worshipped, I
would not kneel, but squatted upon the cold, tiled floor, and peered
through the dim light. A long hall, wide, windowless, with lofty domed
ceiling and rounded walls hung with rich tapestries and exquisite wood
etchings. In the roof was a circular opening about twenty feet in
diameter—this admitted all the light and ventilation. No wonder the
place was cold, dark and filled with close vapors. Directly beneath this
opening four massive, yet transparent, columns rose, and in the center a
figure stood heavily draped, with face upturned and arms hanging limply
at the sides. In the dimness at first I took this form for a fifth
column. The congregation was a silent one, no psalm singing, minister or
priest; yet all were reverently, devoutly engrossed. Gradually the light
grew brighter, clearer, and long, slanting rays of the sun filtered
through the opening. Longer, stronger, grew these slants of light and
heat penetrating the darkest corner. Then suddenly the sun itself
appeared, a round, burning disc, high in the heavens directly above the
opening. The Temple was flooded with light, and the figure I took for a
statue moved, flinging up its arms in worshipful adoration, chanting
weirdly in low tones. As the sun moved so did the form. I caught a
glimpse of the face and fell against my neighbor with a loud, startled
cry, but my voice was drowned in the great volume of music that filled
the place. These people with lifted faces and outstretched arms sang
ardently—sang to the Sun. And the woman upon whom I feasted my eyes
stood in all her marvelous loveliness amid the burning rays of this
fiery god, in truth a Priestess of the Sun.

As the sun gradually sailed over the opening the rays became shorter,
more oblique, casting odd black shadows, and finally the Temple was once
more in darkness. The song ended abruptly, the congregation rose and
quietly dispersed; services were over.

I remained, intending to examine this peculiar Temple of a fiery
religion, but the lid slid suddenly over the opening above and hastily I
groped my way to the door, thankful there were no seats to stumble over.
Out in the hot sunshine again I mingled with the crowd that hurried in
various directions and wandered about the city for hours.

The architecture of public buildings was varied, unique, superb, and in
complete contrast to the monotonous sameness of private dwellings.
Skilled architects had planned that no two government buildings should
in any way be similar. Near the palace was the court house, a low,
square, rugged stone building of primitive hideousness,
centuries—centuries old. Prisons there were none; this half of the globe
was free of criminals. It was explained to me that all causes fostering
crime belonged to the middle ages. A philosopher had then predicted that
civilization would be complete when passionate humanity became
extinct—ahem! The Centaurians had mastered civilization in the
production of a perfect race. They could not love or hate. Adultery,
murder, envy, jealousy were the unknown evils of savagery.

Exterminating the germ, Love, root of disaster, all other passions were
conquered by themselves. Marriage was committed simply for the
perpetuity of the race.

I envied these people their lofty, pure minds, and rare, physical
perfection. Like blessed, celestial childhood, they seemed free of care.
Death brought momentary sadness, regret. These philosophers declared
dissolution the highest degree of nature, which they worshipped in the
form of the Sun.

The political situation of the country I did not attempt to analyze, but
the great organizations of political intrigue, shareholders in the
monstrous, outrageous peculation of Principle, and the turbulent,
contagious plague of Election, were labeled among the rare curios of the
dark ages.

The Centaurians in their far-reaching, penetrating intelligence and
advanced simplicity, vested full power in one man, the Great Man of
Wisdom.

Centauri was the head of the nation, personifying the government, and
enlightened beyond duplicity, believed firmly in himself, as did the
people. Fortunates, rising above tortuous, mental doubts, are the
dominants of civilization.

From time immemorial each Great Man, upon assuming office, was supposed
to form a new government, but the majority abided by the laws of their
predecessors, chary of questioning the sublime, shackless justice,
reigning centuries of calm. Centauri, however, brought about many
radical changes. His strenuousness ended the quietude of centuries,
destroyed the ancient laws of his ancestors and created new ones. The
people welcomed the new regime. “Progression!” they cried, but ignored
entirely that which was next to Centauri’s heart.

“Progression by degrees is more thorough.” The people pleaded and vetoed
the order “to abolish all Sun Temples and erect new houses of worship to
Him, who is supreme.”

Centauri wished to found a new sect and when learning of the veto,
sorrowfully remarked: “I have ignored the Gradual, yet will live to
realize the suggestion as fact.” He sacrificed his wish to the people.
He set a new value upon Trade, which in this ideal world defined the
full significance of the word—merchandise for merchandise—limiting the
circulation of currency to such an extent that in the present era of
plenty money was superfluous, and exchanged merely for form in trifling
transactions.

Many schools, libraries were stationed throughout the city; handsome
buildings luxuriously equipped. Private institutions had long been
abolished, young ladies’ seminaries and muscle-developing colleges,
where fancy sums are expended for a veneer which renders the subject
pitifully unfit, lacking even the ability to assist themselves in
necessity. Mere useless toys of frivolity issued yearly from stilted
preparatories—unseasoned veal garnished with underdone dumplings, a
saute, to the dismay of our ancestors, is called the rising
generation—were forgotten nuisances. In this marvelously enlightened
world greed, cupidity were traits of mediæval times, merit rose superior
to capricious “influence,” students were ambitious, sincere in their
efforts and sought elevation till they passed away to new spheres.
Centur had many magnificent theaters, all with a remarkable roof
contrivance. At a moment’s notice the whole top of the building could be
removed, sliding upon hinges and resting at the side of the house upon
props like a huge box cover.

The opera house was by far the handsomest building of its kind in the
city. The interior was indescribably beautiful, lavish, rich, wantonly
luxurious, with a seating capacity for twenty thousand.

The Centaurians had still to conquer their passion for music, but comedy
was the chief amusement, caged in a bijou of art splendid with elaborate
decorations of foolish clowns, mirth-inspiring masks and rare, exquisite
etchings of fair Folly in various beckoning attitudes. These wise
children, with their wonderful clarity of thought, had long digested the
happiness of laughter, but realized the absolute necessity of variation.
Gloom spiced delight; ennui was strictly a product of my own country.

Tragedy was a classic, a profound culture, and was lodged in a sombre,
stately building bearing the nearest approach to a prison I had yet
encountered—a handsome monument to Melancholia, rich in antiquity. There
were whole scenes of famous tragedies produced in wonderful paintings
startlingly vivid with the misery of reality shadowed in a background of
heavy, costly, dull-hued fabrics. I grew wretched with homesickness in
the dolorous aura, dense with the miasma of rank perfumes. The theater
reminded me of those of my own world during the sad day time, illy
ventilated, morose half light, and the usual freezing shower to the
imagination which impels you to seek fresh air with alacrity. Tragedy
was unpopular with the Centaurians. Thespians were forced to work before
the uninspiring view of rows of empty seats, their efforts critically
watched by scant audiences, unresponsive, stony, occasionally
applauding, invariably at the wrong time. And the actors, adepts in the
art of mechanism, waded through their parts with not the slightest
conception or sympathy—marionettes.

The culture of progression reduced tragedy to the greatest of farces,
and fatalities were shelved by the generation of the wonderful present.
The knowledge of the “diseased art, relic of the dark ages,” was culled
from the histories of the ancients.

Fascinated, I tramped throughout this marvelous city, congratulating
myself that I was without a guide. The lost, strange feeling was
delightful. I had not the remotest idea where I was going, but noticed
the avenues grew broader, dwellings farther apart and gardens larger,
more gorgeous, finally terminating in the city’s wall, a shallow forest
of magnificent trees circling Centur like a great feathery belt; beyond
stretched a broad vista of lovely verdant country, but the blue line of
distance seemed strangely cut and uneven, a shadowy obstruction reared
to a tremendous height extending over the land for miles.

Curious, I wandered to the edge of the forest wall, resting a few
minutes, undecided whether to advance or turn back; then I struck out
direct over the soft green fields, avoiding the road, which is always
the longest route. Why?

The heat was intense, the journey long, tedious, but in the glorious end
fatigue was forgotten. I finally reached a high, massive iron trellis
wall, through which I peered at a scene; ah! entrancing, Eden-like,
veiled with the enchantment of mystery. I found the ponderous gates
invitingly wide and dared to enter this strangely still sphere of
illusion, dense with overpowering, exotic odors of millions of
brilliant-hued blossoms. I gorged my sight with the rainbow tinted
vision, then waded neck deep in the wild, flowery maze, wondering for
all the heavy-scented fascination just why this paradise had been
created.

Gradually my senses pierced the charm and I discovered the
bewildering-hued floral abundance was massed cleverly together forming
clusters of stars, circles and crescents, separated by broad stone
paths, all leading to a gigantic structure rearing higher than any
building in Centur. A grim abode, marring, darkening the brilliant
surroundings. I ventured near this huge, strange building; high, broad,
square, of sombre granite, the massive bronze portals stood wide.

A chill quietness pervaded all things, a sudden unaccountable feeling of
abhorrence came over me. My swift glance traveled throughout the immense
vestibule tiled with black marble and wainscoted to the ceiling with
iron; the walls were ornamented with countless little brass knobs.

“A sepulchre!” I gasped; “a monstrous tomb!” and turning quickly fell
heavily against a man who evidently had been following me.

“You wish to enter?” he asked, ignoring my awkwardness. In confusion I
mumbled an apology. The moment I spoke he saluted deeply.

“One of the four strangers from the other side,” he murmured; and
without further ceremony led the way. I followed, plying him with
questions, all of which he courteously answered. He informed me the
circular spots that so attracted me were the knobs of little doors
leading to diminutive, yet far-stretching lanes, containing the ashes of
the departed. He twisted a great knob near the floor, instantly twenty
or thirty little doors flew open and I peered curiously into the little
dark alleys, some extending clear around the building and all containing
ashes of those who had departed centuries ago.

“The fundamental law and perfecting touch of nature is extinction,” the
gentleman informed me. “At the expiration of a race,” he continued, “the
ashes of the entire line are removed from these cells and consigned to
the underground vaults which form the foundation of this building.
Throughout the gardens are many stairways leading to the vaults;
ventilation is perfect. Would you care to visit the underground?”

I replied hastily in the negative.

He told me the building had been erected 5,000 years and was still
incomplete. It comprised twenty-five floors, with the plans opened to
add twenty-five more. But he was positive the additional twenty-five
floors would never be built, basing his conviction upon the “supreme law
of degeneration, extinction.”

He declared the building would never be completed; that it would take
thousands of years, and the “inevitable is never idle.”

“Has it always been cremation? Was there never a time of burials?” I
asked.

“Burials!” he cried: “you mean the body in the natural state, planted in
the ground?”

I nodded.

“Preposterous!” he gasped; “is there such a custom? Not even the savages
commit such sacrilege. Cremation,” he continued, “is a form of our
religion, though for a century burials were resorted to. Eight hundred
years ago a noted herbalist of that period extracted from minerals an
acid which, when applied to the lifeless body, produced instant
petrification, but unfortunately the demise of this wise man closed
forever the petrified age. We returned to cremation.”

He drew from their cells exquisite, odd-shaped urns. Some were of
bronze, many of iron, a few of gold. The silver ones were tarnished and
ugly, and plain stone jars seemed to be the most in use. He drew out
boxes of rare scented wood, beautifully inlaid with metals, and from one
of the lower shelves brought out a narrow, oblong, silvery block,
explaining the style had been in use many centuries and proved the most
durable.

Eagerly I examined the curio. It was a crystal block quaintly etched
with queer characters, the ashes within giving the silver sheen. I
quickly returned it to its cell, then stooping, twisted the great knob
near the floor, which caused all the little doors to spring together
with a snap. The guide smiled knowingly and, taking my arm, escorted me
down the long, sombre hall, advising me to inspect the tomb of the Great
Family. We halted in front of a small door, which flew open at the
touch, revealing a small, square platform that shot up like a rocket as
we stepped upon it. The speed slackened gradually to a standstill before
wonderful gates of smooth, dull gold, which slowly opened. I entered a
lofty, arched room, flooded with sunlight blazing upon gold-paneled
walls, and sank ankle deep in golden floss which deadened sound. I gazed
upon fabulous magnificence. There were wonderful embroideries studded
with gems flashing golden suns. Silver gauze hung high, shimmering with
sparkling sprays, soft as moonlight; strange urns, jars and bowls
embedded with gems; delicate jeweled caskets of ivory and jade, tall
crystal cylinders, divided into compartments, all containing a silvery
dust. Massive bronze columns carved and engraved with strange forms and
inscriptions relative to the history of those whose ashes powdered its
heart. Gold and silver globes and queer diamond-shaped receptacles were
lined in order upon bronze trestles; all contained the sanctified ashes
of rulers long departed, and high above all this splendor hung the
golden banner and imperial arms of Centauri.

My eyes suddenly fastened upon a hideous stone figure, the trunk of a
woman resting upon a gem-incrusted pedestal.

“That is the form of the beauteous Alpha Centauri, who reigned during
the petrified age,” the guide informed me. “It is very pathetic, and
marks petrification a failure. The lower portion of the body has
crumpled away; the pedestal contains the powder. Before long what
remains will be dust, then the pedestal will be sealed.”

“Why so much splendor for the Great Family if all Centaurians are
equal?” I asked.

“All Centaurians are equal,” he answered; “but the Great Family is
divine, immortal.”

“Truly is the Great Family wise,” I muttered; then suddenly sickened,
repelled at the bestial richness. I turned toward the golden gates, but
hesitated, not caring to descend by the treacherous elevator.

The guide, understanding my nervousness, led me through a rear door and
out to a long, barren, draughty hall. The floor, a recent addition, was
still incomplete, but the ashes of the Great Family always occupied the
new portion of the building. We reached a narrow, winding stairway, and
the friendly guide cautioned and advised slow travel.

I began the steep descent, but frequently rested, owing to an odd
trembling, and from that day forever I abhorred the odor of musk and
wondered if I had inhaled any of the perfumed powder of the Great
Family. Reaching the gloomy, black tiled hall, I rushed like one
possessed out into the fresh air, but the beauties of the garden had
vanished and I raced along the white paths and was soon streaking it
across the green country, nor did I slacken up till reaching once more
the swaying, circular forest. I followed the edge of the curving grove,
hoping it would lead to the heart of the city, but instead the trees
thinned to the harbor. The long, slanting rays of the sun glistened upon
white piers and bridges which jutted far out into the bay. Gateways were
elaborate columned arches, and the fantastic domed and spiral turreted
roofs of dock buildings gave Centur the appearance of a great mystical
palace floating upon the sea. If only the much respected municipalities
of our various cities could have accompanied me upon that tour of
inspection——!!!

Heavy freight was still transported by water and rail. I watched strong,
brawny men load and unload queer, barge-like ships.

The wages of labor was paid in bolts of goods, provisions and books.
Knowledge was prized higher than gold or silver.

All work was done for the government. There was but one government, one
nationality, one language, and competition, monopolies, labor
organizations, were unknown evils. There were no classes, all men were
equal, but a thin dividing line was stretched by Knowledge—the more
learned the more power.

Supreme satisfaction resulted in this superior civilization.

I wandered some time around the business portion of the city, vainly
trying to find my way back to the palace. I would not ask directions, as
I passed all right for a Centaurian, till I opened my mouth, then I was
gaped at as “one of the four,” etc. This had begun to pall.

There seemed to be a great many buildings going up in the business
district, or it was just possible that my wanderings invariably winded
up in front of the same building. At all events my lounging finally
attracted the attention of the workmen, and the foreman ventured up and
inquired my business. The moment I spoke it was all up—one of the
four——. The man saluted deeply and courteously offered to take me over
the building. The word flew along the line and I was regarded with
interest, and caps were doffed if by chance I happened to meet the eye
of any of the men. Information concerning the building was willingly
given, and I solved the mysterious appearance of all the houses in
Centur—they were made of glass. Great blocks of glass hoisted one upon
the other forced and screwed together and joined with liquid crystal.
Walls measured from five to seven feet thick; apartments were large,
airy, the halls wide, lofty, with domed ceilings supported by huge
crystal columns. In the center of the dome an electric chandelier swung,
which flamed blue the moment the sun set and remained burning till sun
rise. Dwellings were constructed to accommodate four and five families.
The durability of glass is above argument; most of the buildings in
Centur had been standing for centuries, and the palace of Centauri was
believed to be the first crystal building erected. Some of the houses
had a coating of paint, pale blue, pink, whatever the fancy, creating a
porcelain effect which I thought vastly pretty; but the popular tint
seemed to be the natural tinge of the glass, a dark, sea green, very
cooling to the sight and nerves.

All buildings were hosed every morning, which accounted for their
irradiating hues when the sun shone upon them, but at night they
presented an extraordinary appearance, the lights within penetrated the
glass, which absorbed the rays, and cast a dull roseate splendor. One
could walk down rows of glowing houses and yet be in total darkness, but
the streets were flooded with brilliancy from great arc lights suspended
high above the crossings.

Vacant lots enclosed with unsightly board fences were not permitted to
mar the symmetry of this lovely city. Such land was converted into
public parks and kept by the city till the owner, ready to build,
notified the authorities; then after the time limit the wall which
surrounds all private property was erected.

It was very interesting watching the carpenters at their strange house
building. The preciseness, ease, rapidity and methodical attention given
to details produced faultless work. Such conscientiousness was
astounding. I remained till the closing hour, then following the
directions of the foreman soon found my way to the palace.

The setting sun painted the horizon line a fierce crimson and seemed to
sink into the beautiful bay surrounding this most wonderful city. As the
fiery glow faded to a dying pink the lights of the city suddenly flared
with electric splendor, and calm, reposeful twilight was unknown in this
strange land, and night, moist, restful, shaded only the mountains and
wilderness.



                             CHAPTER XIII.


The palace from foundation to dome was a blaze of lights. As I entered
the grounds, Mike (short for Aurelius), who had been detailed to look
after the comfort of the “four illustrious,” hastened anxiously to meet
me. I questioned him concerning Saxe., Sheldon and Saunders. He informed
me my absence had greatly alarmed the gentleman with the mane on his
chin (Saxe.), but the thin, positive gentleman, with the bald head
(Saunders), had advised him that they “couldn’t lose the child and he’d
turn up as colicky as ever,” while the old, young man, with stiff black
mustachios (Sheldon), had consoled the Kind-hearted One that “the boy
could not stray farther than Centur anyhow, and he’d find the palace
quick when hungry.” This comforted the Good One, with the magnificent
mane, and early in the afternoon the three, with a large escort, had
sailed for the great Ocsta range to view the waters of the Otega. Mike
was not certain when they would return, as the Ocsta mountains were far
distant. I laughed, knowing full well Sheldon and Saunders had been as
uneasy about me as dear old Saxe., and all three had made dead certain
of me before sailing to the mountains.

And Sheldon was to view his great body of fresh water at last. His spunk
and determination deserves credit. For all the ridicule he stuck to his
theory and knew what he was talking about all the time. The great body
of fresh water was a fact, and he discovered it.

I hurried to my apartments, thence to the baths. Nothing so refreshing
as the bath, yet my long day of wandering and fast made me nearly
collapse with fatigue. My feet ached painfully and were badly inflamed;
the streets of Centur are hard on pedestrians unaccustomed to sandals.
Roads, pavements were of stone, but trees lined the curbing, their
wide-spreading branches formed a welcome arch of shade. The sun’s rays
were more penetrating, more burning on this side of the globe.

Mike served me with a delicious drink and while sipping it I put in the
time writing to Alpha Centauri.

It took three notes to gain satisfaction. The first brought no reply,
the second an excuse, but the third roused the lady’s interest.... I was
invited to dine.

I sent Mike ahead with acceptance, but stealthily followed, and he, all
unsuspecting, led me up a long flight of stairs and still another which
wound serpent-like around a giant column. I wondered if he would ever
reach the top; surely we were climbing to the skies, yet at the end
heaven awaited. We finally reached the landing; that is, Mike did. He
knocked discreetly upon a little square door which immediately opened
and I hurried forward, saluting the loveliest woman in the world.

Of course I was requested to enter and Mike’s gasp of amazement
dissolved into a very kind, sympathetic smile, while Alpha Centauri
laughed outright, the sweetest, merriest laughter imaginable. It set me
all aflame. How beautiful she was with that great mass of jetty hair
piled upon her head and the heavy-lashed, sidling eyes, evading mine. My
pulses throbbed wildly.

The humor of the situation both thoroughly understood and enjoyed, but
the impassioned motive was entirely beyond them.

As I entered the room the strong, pungent odor of chemicals warned me I
had intruded the sanctified laboratory of Centauri, and to my chagrin,
the old gentleman was there, polite, frigid, and deeply engrossed in a
table crowded with queer little vials and tubes.

The walls of the room were lined with shelves filled with glass jars
containing strange fluids and powders. There were huge glass mortar
bowls, tall crystal pipes and cylinders, and several long, narrow
tables. Over one a cloth had been hastily thrown.

“You find me deep in my great work,” a sweet voice murmured near me.

I glanced down at the lovely speaker, her arms were bared to the
shoulders, and one was stained with a dull-red color.

Centauri advised her to cease work and entertain the stranger.

She shrugged her shoulders and turned at once to the covered table and
there followed a whispered argument which was perfectly audible to me
(one always overhears). He cautioned her against overconfidence, adding
that the stranger might lose the desire to teach the science she wished
to learn. For several seconds she stood undecided, stubborn, then
suddenly courtesied deeply and turned to me. “For once pleasure lures
me,” she murmured, smiling divinely. “I will be with you in a few
moments.”

She raised her arm as though to give some last direction to her father,
it was the stained arm, but in my ardor I caught and passionately kissed
it. The acid was glazed, sticky, the odor sickening. I turned from her,
repelled, with a keen desire to get out of the place.

She laughed merrily as she hastened away, and Centauri twitted me that I
changed color at the sight of life’s fluid, but was able to endure the
horrors of the polar regions. He considered that I possessed a
remarkable constitution, and informed me his daughter’s work was for the
prolongation of life.

“She seeks the elixir of eternal youth and health.”

I laughed indulgently; a queer whim for such an exquisite creature, but
it was distasteful to me to connect this dainty Centaurian with the
gross depths of a laboratory, yet it seemed the natural trend of her
powerful intellect. She was far and above the ordinary sphere of
delicate, ethereal, trifling femininity; a phantom, yes; but tangible,
adorable.

Centauri chuckled softly as I laughed again and led me to the covered
table. There were a dozen or more silver lidded bowls arranged in a
circle with a wide, flat dish in the center. Curiously I raised the
lids, all contained liquids of various hues; one was green with a spicy
odor of herbs, another thick, white as milk; and a third clear as water,
while the flat center dish contained a dull, brownish fluid, emitting a
strong wild odor.

“Blood!” I whispered.

“Quite right,” Centauri replied comfortably; “blood of oxen, which must
be used in the natural heat.”

He turned to a tall glass jar which was filled with a beautiful ruby
fluid, and placing a small vial to the crystal tube, pressed the siphon.
The fluid rose sluggishly to the surface, then slowly flowed into the
vial, thick, like syrup of fruit. He filled two goblets, handing one to
me, the other the old gentleman drained at a gulp, never batting an eye.
The draught turned against me, but I swallowed it. The liquor had a
sweet, poignant flavor, and a most injurious effect. I felt a terrible
pain in the region of my heart and the blood rushed to my head, blinding
me. Centauri led me to the adjoining room, large, airy and flooded with
moonlight. The weakness quickly passed, taking with it the fatigue of
the day. I felt freshened, invigorated, as though just risen from a
long, restful slumber. I hurried to the wide-opened windows, inhaling
the fresh, fragrant breeze whistling around the high-turreted room and
gazed upon a marvelous night view. The fantastic city of Centur flared a
brilliant panorama, the penetrating light of electricity streamed from
countless gigantic bulbs softening the lurid glow of domed buildings;
and darting aimlessly, high in the heavens, uncanny bright red globes
floated. It was a fabulous scene, yet a light touch upon my arm, a dark,
fascinating face smiling into mine, and I completely forgot the
blinding, weird expanse. As I drew her to me the room instantly blazed
with light. A table lay spread with snowy cloth decked with sparkling
silver and crystal. Dainty, tempting viands were served to me by the
superb Alpha, but though I had fasted the whole day, I ate with little
relish, while a parched throat forced me to drink more than was prudent.
Under the fiery stimulant my mind expanded with brilliant thoughts,
which I voiced with a sudden new eloquence that amazed me. I told of my
side of the globe, picturing the great cities so vividly my listeners
leaned eagerly toward me as though seeing my descriptions. I dwelled
upon the religion of my country, explaining there were hundreds of
sects, yet all worshipped the One Supreme Being, God, Father of all
nature.

Alpha gazed at me with distended, wondering eyes, while Centauri sprang
to his feet and with outstretched arms spoke wildly, agitatedly. I could
not follow clearly his ravings, but his meaning was unmistakable, and
while he spoke his daughter’s eyes narrowed, the forehead flattened, and
the perfect brows met in a straight line.

Centauri’s excitement was painful; he was a fanatic. He believed in the
Almighty, and denounced the Sun-worshippers as heathens.

Unmindful of his daughter’s presence he told me it was she who ruled the
people; their idol, leader, they followed with blind devotion, and it
was a divine providence that led me safely across the terrible North,
that I might fulfill the mission ordained at my birth—converting and
saving the Centaurians, through the powerful love inspired by the
Priestess of the Sun.

“Teach my daughter the love of God!” he cried. “It will bring sublime,
everlasting happiness to the Centaurians.”

The Priestess of the Sun patted his hand indulgently, laughing softly,
yet defiantly. His voice quavered inaudibly, with arms raised in protest
he sank to his seat. She rose, glanced deferentially at her father, then
her voice rang sweet, clear as a bell in defence of her creed. She was
bigoted, but unlike Centauri (who undoubtedly was the most sincere), she
was cold, collected, more eloquent and convincing, and wisely refrained
from denunciation.

“Each to his belief,” she told me, “and my reverend father is the great
Centauri.” With a radiant smile she courtesied deeply to him. “His words
are indisputable facts,” she continued; “facts of long ages ago when the
land of Centauri was a great, seething hive, choked with millions of
fanatical sects. Discontent, Envy, Malice, Unhappiness twined the
pedestal of Love. Evil passions predominated, ruled. Wickedness festered
and festered into a poisonous, contagious eruption, which overspread the
land and the greatest and last war of Centauri was fought. Years, many
years, the god of Destruction swayed his rod of devastation, the knell
of Centauri tolled with mighty vibrations, startling, waking somnolent
civilization which gathered its dormant forces for one last tremendous
upheaval and burst the reservoirs of Purity, flooding the country with
righteousness, peace; and from the divine calm that followed rose the
great golden Vespa of the Sun. Germs of progress spread broadcast.
Passion first was controlled, deadened, then obliterated. The Sun is the
inspiration of the universe, but we worship the mysterious, powerful
Spirit, who controls the great globe of beneficial light and warmth.
Centauri, profound in wisdom, does not fail, but refuses, to comprehend
the depth of our creed. The Centaurians are too deeply rooted in their
religious sentiments to permit a sudden caprice to dictate a turning in
their cherished sacred convictions. For centuries their religion has
been as the air they breathe, life. We are fire-worshippers, and the
emblem of our faith burns in the heavens for all eternity.”

She had forgotten us. Standing erect, magnificent in her enthusiasm with
face and arms uplifted, a goddess above the gods; she was superb in her
fanaticism. I glanced at Centauri; he sat with crossed arms and bowed
head, moody, silent. A long, quivering sigh and Alpha realized the
present. She glanced defiantly at her father, yet her face retained its
beauteous, angelic expression. She smiled divinely upon me and told me
the night was still young, that my friends had not returned from the
Ocstas, and she would know more of my wonderful country.

She leaned dangerously near me. Her face flushed and her eyes gleamed as
she passed her hand over my brow. I raised my arms to clasp her, but she
darted away; with a cry of adoration I sprang up and dared to follow,
but she was gone; and Centauri’s cold words chilled my passion as he
bade me be seated. In the moment he was the mechanical Centauri,
courteous, deliberate, freezingly distant.

“The love that creates desire is beyond the Centaurians,” he told me.
“Progression erased the bestial. The fiery red of the savage still
tinges your blood, and my learned daughter is as far above and beyond
you as the Sun, that inspires her ravings. Give up this consuming
desire—which breeds disappointment, turning bitter the sweetness of your
nature. In very sympathy I would spare you, my son. The tribulations of
desire, I do not understand; but disappointment, ah! that curse
blighting the nobleness of humanity, I have known. Rise above lusty
thoughts, seek a higher, purer aim; teach my daughter to know and love
the Supreme Being, the Creator, and Virgillius, ‘The Virgillius,’
becomes immortal.”

I reverently saluted the religious fervor of this great man and, much
affected, earnestly assured him of my good intentions.

He came quickly to my side and in benediction laid his hands upon my
head. I promised to do all that he wished, but added that his daughter
must and would be mine, and that I would always adore her, even though I
knew the end would be hell.

“You will help each other,” he murmured; “but you are not mates. I have
spoken. May the Lord bless and spare you.”

He returned to his seat as Alpha entered, carrying a dainty golden
salver ladened with tiny crystal goblets through which sparkled the
rose-tinted syrup of life. She offered us the liqueur, then with her
glass held high, bade us drink to perpetual youth and health.

I drained my glass, this time feeling no ill effect from the liquor,
though it flushed and gave me boldness. Making no attempt to conceal my
ardor, I led this lovely woman, who so inflamed me, to a seat near the
window, and in impassioned tones, as though it were the first time, told
her of my love. Suddenly, daringly, I drew her closer to me, forgetting
Centauri entirely, but when I recovered sufficiently to look around for
him the glorious Alpha and myself were alone.

She gently released herself, gazing at me with unresponsive, wonder-wide
eyes.

“Is this love?” she asked, “and are you happy?”

“To love you is ecstasy!” I replied. “To possess you—heaven!”

“You are profane,” she murmured reprovingly. “Woman is mortal. It is
sacrilegious comparing her with paradise.”

Powers above! my passion suddenly evaporated; but though she chilled me
it was still rapture to be near her.

“I am trying to teach you the lesson of love, sweet Alpha,” I whispered;
“you must learn, you promised.”

“You wish to marry me?” she asked.

I raised her hand to my lips and gazed ardently into her deep eyes (same
here as on our side).

She moved from me and haughtily inquired if love in my country was not
equivalent to marriage.

Rebuked, I humbly answered: “Not always; we marry frequently and for
many reasons, least of all for love.”

“We marry for companionship, respect,” she icily informed me. “Intellect
mates with intellect; mental, physical equality, produces the ideal.”

“You have betrayed the Centaurians,” I cried triumphantly. “Love is not
vetoed, but so sifted and refined it bears little resemblance to the
divine flame, yet the tender passion is not quenched, but the
Centaurians unabashed proclaim Love, a dead evil, and boldly title their
droll creation ... Compatibility. Oh, Centauri! Centauri!”

“You dare ridicule!” she cried angrily.

“No, no, my lady!” I hastened to reply. (Good heavens!) “I am giving you
the first lesson in the most wonderful of all sciences. Love is a
powerful, mysterious, inexplicable ideality—a thrilling experience, and
before I leave your world you will have mastered and indulged in all the
delights and miseries of this mystic art; and deep in your heart you
will bless me for imparting this ecstatic knowledge; and though
existence may end in sweet despair (it always does), you have lived and
realized. One genuine thrill of this divine folly is worth a life of
empty fame with the monstrous finale of decayed immortality. Superb
Alpha, your destiny is writ in your glorious beauty and marvelous power
to charm.”

Her eyes flamed at my words, and for the first time I pondered over the
wisdom of my intentions. But desire was turbulent; mad, infatuated, I
lost control over conscience, reason—passion has no regrets—I would
possess.

I talked with her for hours and told over again of my country and
religion, and related completely the life of Christ. She was impressed,
awed, and deeply reverenced the divine spirit that embodied the Saviour.

“He was a martyr,” she cried with uplifted, worshipping eyes. “His
actions, teachings, were divine inspiration; but—He lived His life too
early, and Himself ordained it should be shortened.”

Gently I argued, trying to fulfill my promise to Centauri, but I
struggled with a superior intellect, and like the brilliant woman she
was she listened eagerly, attentively, complimenting me into believing
my efforts had convinced her; then, with incomparable tact, she steered
from the dangerous subject, and before aware of her intent, I was
eloquently discussing the North Pole. Again I lived over that awful
voyage, describing the vast dead regions, the insurmountable, smooth,
perpendicular cliffs, and terrifying, unfathomable chasms, shadowed in
sombre stillness; but when I reached the great, fiery pivot, horror
overcame me and vividly I pictured our awful plight as we raced down the
swaying mountain with the sea of boiling mass pursuing us and the whole
world vibrating like a monstrous pendulum.

“And you dared this peril for science?” she asked.

“My comrades did,” I answered quickly. “I searched for the greatest
drawback to ambition and life lost value in a consuming desire.”

Then I told of the wonderful vision that inspired such intense longings,
and that I had worshipped her, months before the expedition.

“I adore you!” I whispered. “It is fate that brought us together—I will
have you!”

She laughed softly, studying me through half-closed eyes, then told me
from the first I had exerted a strange influence, possibly because of
the aureola of mystery surrounding me and the great, unknown continent I
came from.

“But since our meeting,” she sighed, “new and wonderful thoughts riot in
my mind, lulling energy, ambition, and deeply I’ve pondered over the
wisdom of a life forfeited for immortality, though it is the grandest
finale, and ultimately mine; but I pause, deferring momentous problems
absorbed in profound analyses of a powerful, but fleeting emotion.”

“Ah!” I sighed ecstatically.

“Selfishness, Discontent,” she continued, “the premier rules of this
great art are mastered in the realization of my own loveliness and the
rebellion against fate, injustice of our sacred laws which sacrifices me
for the welfare of humanity.”

I stared, astounded, while she, watching me closely with veiled, sidling
eyes, caught the wild desire of my glance and, shaking her head,
murmured dreamily: “In this wondrous world of fancy crowded with vain
longings and godly phantoms which dart from rainbow film, then flash
onward, your image does not blend. This sphere is the space of centuries
which separates us and, though creating the new element, your appeal
fails to inspire response. The joining of two such natures shatters the
beautiful—we are not mates. Yours is the love that hopes, dreads, doubts
and fears, and dies with possession; while I seek, yet devoutly hope
never to find the one only charm of my visionary world—a powerful
influence which vanquishes denial, curbing destiny with compelling,
flaming radiance—a mighty glory never realized, yet swaying the universe
with longings reaching above and far beyond that monster called Death.
Ah, Virgillius,” she whispered tremulously, “I can love; yes, I can
love; but with the knowledge happiness departs forever.”

Rapturously I caught her hand, exultant; aflame at her confession I
dared press my hot lips to her soft, fair neck. She shuddered, then
gently drew from my embrace.

“Thus are the dead evils of the ancients easily acquired,” she murmured
gloomily, chilling my ardor and thrusting me and my passion to musty
remoteness.

“And, Virgillius,” she continued, “after centuries of training the
savage is still untamed. Leave me now, I am wearied, and the day
approaches.”

She rose languidly, moving to the window. In the dull gray light of dawn
she looked wan, strangely pathetic. In tenderest sympathy I hastened to
her side, for the second half regretting my work which had robbed her
forever of contentment. The ideal, always existing in her brain, had
formed distinct, existable, and she worshipped every caprice of
imagination.

Kindly she smiled dismissal, pointing to the heavens flushed with the
new day. I understood and, raising her hand to my lips, silently
departed. Out of her presence regrets vanished. I had commenced well and
accomplished more in a few hours than I had expected to in weeks. Women
always adore the ideal, and love a man.

This strange, fascinating piece of femininity grieved because realizing
she was a woman, an adorable woman, not a saint.

Alpha Centauri is mine!



                              CHAPTER XIV.


The scorching rays of an afternoon sun roused me from a sleep of hours,
yet dreamily I rested till a subdued murmur reached me from the outer
room and I knew my friends had returned.

The trio were in deep consultation when I joined them, but all hailed me
with evident relief, and Sheldon distinguished himself as usual. He
hoped they had not disturbed my “gentle slumbers,” as all agreed I
needed rest and quiet after the “exhaustive attempt to cipher such a
disheartening, complicated, enigmatical, mysterious what?” which made in
comparison the most scientific problems diversion. He cautioned me
against “invading the climatic disorders of the mighty feminine, as
explorers in that realm dazed by rudimental desire, always reached such
pitifully befuddled climaxes.”

“And, Sally,” he continued, “though we have discovered a new portion of
the globe, the inhabitants present a very familiar appearance. The
feminine species were discovered long ago and are produced in vast
numbers on our continent with similar unsatisfactory results; also——”

“I passed the evening with our beautiful hostess,” I interrupted, cold,
dignified.

“And I missed the preliminaries,” he wailed; “the great act where the
intellectual divinity absorbs her—ahem—first experience. But there’s
time——”

“Now, now, now,” interposed Saxe., “let the boy alone; it’s his
affliction and makes him happy.”

“Yes,” echoed Saunders, “let him alone, the ailment will cure itself, it
always does.”

Their winks and ill-concealed, struggling laughter exasperated me and,
threatening to be even, I roared that I madly loved the beautiful
Centaurian.

“We haven’t contradicted you,” purred Sheldon soothingly; “but your
astonishing frankness relieves much anxiety. We doubted your sentiments
toward the very handsome lady—you will survive.”

Then they let it out, boisterously, derisively. Vainly I protested; the
more I raged the wilder grew their mirth, till suddenly realizing they
joshed me, believing raillery a sure cure for the tender malady; also,
that each would take turns thrashing any one who dared harass me as they
were doing, I dropped chivalry and resignedly joined in the sport. All
sobered up instantly and Saxe., understanding (he always did), plunged
into an account of their adventures.

“You should have been with us, Virgillius,” he said, looking at me
reproachfully. “It was a wonderful voyage. We started shortly after
noon, our ship accompanied by a fleet. The strong, fresh breeze of the
cloud plains was delightful after the intense heat of the city. We
sailed straight north, expecting to reach the Ocstas about sun-down, but
the committee erred when mapping out the route. This led over the
battle-ground of the Octrogonas and Potolilis, and for three mortal
hours we dipped, circled, fluttering like a great buzzard, watching an
engagement between the warring tribes. Our captain, a most obliging
fellow, slyly detached his ship from the others, which unaware, sailed
peacefully on, but our traveling companions when learning the cause of
delay immediately secluded themselves. The Centaurians, ahem! are
cultured above war—and we had the whole deck to ourselves, occupying
railing seats. It was a magnificent sight, Virgillius, magnificent! But
warfare is pretty even on both sides of the globe. Here the chiefs,
generals, lead in battle; their great armies are drilled to mechanical
perfection, in action compact, a gigantic unit; and, boy, every last
blessed one of them aimed and shot to kill.”

Saxe. wondered how the principals escaped.

“Looks bad for the aiming,” murmured Sheldon.

The Octrogonas were the fiercest, but the Potolilis, more numerous, and
though the young chief was superb, daring, he was gradually forced to
retreat, which so enraged his army, discipline was trampled under. They
rushed the enemy and both sides fought like beasts.

“It was slaughter, horrible, yet differs not at all from what is going
on continually in some portion of our world,” Saxe. growled. He scorned
those “high-sniffing Centaurians,” for their “dastardly indifference,”
and declared the extermination of the magnificent savage a crime.

“For they’re killing each other off as fast as they can and the whole
row over a couple of women!”

Saxe.’s indignation gradually calmed in the soothing enthusiasm of
explaining how he’d manage affairs were he the head of the nation, but
when Sheldon and Saunders started in with a few suggestions his interest
suddenly flagged and he decided the people over here knew pretty well
what they were about, though things did not seem quite straight to him.
Still the deep, far-sighted Centaurians were undoubtedly correct in
their “aloofness,” and the war was no concern of ours anyhow. He didn’t
believe the colored races would ever become civilized anyway, but
Potolili was the shrewdest egotist he’d ever met, and Octrogona, the
noblest ass.

“And,” continued Saxe., “over civilized and savage alike glows the one
great flaming religion; all worship the powerful, fiery God, and
hostilities ceased the instant the sun went down. When we finally
reached the Ocstas, it was glorious moonlight, but a glacial atmosphere;
we had again invaded the frigid zone.”

“The chill in the air was nothing compared to the killing frost nipping
our reception,” Sheldon blurted out; “our delight in carnage, Sally, me
boy, made us lose prestige with the Centaurians.”

“Yes, but a biting, raw indifference, produced a tremendous thaw,” Saxe.
hastened to add; “and I, for one, gazing at the weird grandeur of the
rugged Ocstas, forgot these people and their advanced, but narrow
theories. They seemed petty, inconsequential, amid the vast wilderness
of mighty boulders and unfathomable precipices. You should have been
with us, Virgillius, love can be indulged in any moment, but to view the
Ocstas at full moon, ah, magnificent! The far-reaching forest of cliffs
have a singular, spectral beauty, abundantly covered all the year round
with a peculiar, vivid green moss and pale, tender shrubbery. It is
spring always in the strange Ocstas; there are no seasons, nothing
matures or dies, perpetual spring, with the blasting ice breath of the
north settled upon them for all time—something wrong, the Ocstas are
unwholesome, and Sheldon intends to explore the whole range! Shouldn’t
care to get lost up there,” he continued, “during my short stay I had
the shivers. There is an echo, an uncanny, maddening echo, which moans
the length and breadth of the range with every little breeze. It starts
with a roar, diminishes to a long-drawn-out, whispering wail, as though
something suffered mortal agony—no human brain could stand that any
length of time. Then the water! Sheldon’s great body of fresh water! It
is marvelous; a magnet, an absorbent magnet, from which nothing can
stray and which eventually swallows everything.

“Possibly Sheldon’s theory concerning this body of water is correct. It
looks like a reservoir, the reservoir of the earth, surrounded with a
wall of perpendicular, glass cliffs, marred with gigantic fissures and
crevices supposed to be the effect of time, ahem! and which Sheldon will
explore at low tide. This strange shoreless ocean rouses to fearful
activity during the full of the moon, roaring, booming terrifically,
while great mountainous billows dash furiously against the cliffs,
boiling, swirling into the great fissures, then receding with a dull,
hollow sound, which throws the dreadful haunting echo. The waves form
deep whirlpools, then soar upward with such force and volume you think
the water will reach the sky, then deluge the earth; yet the glistening,
silvery columns never break—it is monstrously impressive.

“I cautiously approached the edge of a crevice and when the water
flooded high lowered a goblet. Virgillius, it was the first time I ever
tasted water in my life; just what the article is we’re accustomed
to ... Pure, sparkling, icy; I’ve brought a sample of the Otega to show
you.” He held a bottle to the light, but it looked so clear I doubted if
there was anything in it. The stopper was removed and an attempt made to
pour out the liquid. Instantly we buried our noses, and Saxe. hastily
flung the bottle out the window. Of all the stenches! The water had been
corked for hours and the numerous gases combined in deadly fermentation.
Saxe., very serious, gravely, but with the air of expecting dispute,
expressed his opinion.

“That water would have exploded had it remained corked much longer,” he
remarked, “which proves beyond question the correctness of my
statements. It is of volcanic origin and some day there’ll be a terrific
eruption, the ocean will vanish with, perhaps, a mountain crowding its
cavity; however, I——”

Sheldon, flushed and furious, sprang to his feet, loudly expostulating,
but Saxe. was prepared and replied pointedly. From their language I knew
it was an old argument and had pretty nearly filled in the time since
they viewed the Ocstas; even Saunders took a hand mixing things
generally, as he always did, and all three excitedly shouted in chorus,
like a trio of women. They made an awful din, but seemed happy, so I let
them go it. Now why will people argue? It always creates discord and
each, at the end of the mêlée, believes more firmly in his own
convictions.

I sprawled contentedly in the broad window-sill flooded with sunlight
and drowsed in rapturous dreams, dreams only, but of the most glorious,
wondrous creature in the whole wide world.

Heaven is brief, the ardent light gradually slanted chill, and roused by
a sudden prolonged silence I found my three friends suspiciously calm,
but in a snorting mad condition. It was Saunders who had broken up the
seance. He glowered at me and wondered if they were ever going to get
anything to eat. These people certainly didn’t expect him to keep any
further engagements without nourishment. He’d been up all night fooling
around that d——d ocean and was exhausted, and he judged it must be near
time for him to go somewhere with somebody, too.

Saxe. and Sheldon coughed irritatingly, but further trouble was averted
by the entrance of “Mike,” who solicitously inquired our wishes about
dining. Famished, we all brightened up at the mention of dinner. A
delicate meal was served, and Sheldon, his mouth full and good humor
restored, suggested Mike’s health, opining that Aladdin’s genii wasn’t
in it with Mike. We agreed, and in thin glasses of oily greenish
liqueur, Mike’s health was freely toasted, varied occasionally with a
send-off to ourselves and hobbies.

“Yours, Sally,” said Sheldon, alluding to the hobbies, “will ripen,
mature, fade and decay in the glorious rays of satiety, but when the
inevitable mellowness does occur, for Heaven’s sake, my dear boy, kill
the pest, don’t develop into a plague!”

Sheldon actually believed himself witty, original, but remembering he’d
been up all night and crabbed I smiled, blandly thanking him for his
advice and reminded him that no matter how severe a case I developed it
wouldn’t be catching. He seemed willing to drop the subject, but
Saunders, evidently annoyed at my calmness, testily sputtered:

“Oh, fiddle! Salucci, you waste your time; love is a pastime, an
inclination; turn your attention to more profitable pursuits. We will
never visit this portion of the world again. Women, love, oh bosh!”

Saunders made me thoroughly angry. I sprang up, bouncing with fury.

“Gently, gently,” murmured Saxe., laying a restraining hand upon me.
Then as though it were a subject we had been discussing right along, he
proceeded to give out his plans for the future.

Sheldon snickered, and Saunders’s eyes twinkled, though his face
retained its long, thoughtful expression.

“A committee representing the government,” continued Saxe., placidly,
“called upon me, armed with a request several yards long, signed by the
most influential citizens of Centur, ahem! including the old boy
himself. I was assured that by presenting this country with a duplicate
of the lost _Propellier_ I would confer a great and lasting benefit to
this portion of the world; also it was gently hinted that the
accompanying coaches fitted up as we had them would more than ... etc.,
etc., etc. But the people feared to impose—and unlimited material would
be supplied for construction. A house will be placed at my disposal
where I can enjoy the utmost seclusion. I accepted. _Propellier No. 1_
was crude, full of defects. The new machine will present startling
improvements. Look me up sometimes, Virgillius, don’t allow the amorous
pursuit to crowd out inventive qualities. And, I say, boys, it seems
we’re settled in this land of Centauri for a good long time.”

“It looks that way,” Sheldon agreed; “but we mustn’t stay over the
limit. I shouldn’t relish being marooned in the ice regions.”

“We’re not beggars for time,” I told him. “Allowing twenty months for
the return trip, we still have three years to our credit.”

Saxe. reminded me that three years passed swiftly; then informed me he
understood I was to remain at the palace the honored guest of Love,
which had made me famous throughout Centauri.

“You’re the hero of the band,” he bubbled; “these people have forgotten
all about the ‘grande passion’ themselves and naturally believed the
universe exempt. They regard you as a TYPE, rare, valuable. The Dailies
give amazing suggestions on the subject and gravely advise the
organization of a new sect with Love for its theme, and you the standard
bearer; ahem! good scheme. Read any of the papers yet?”

“Nope!” I answered sullenly.

“Very diverting,” he informed me, “highly anarchistic in tone, but
devoid of the feverish sensationalism affected by so many journals of
our world. The news of Centur is printed exquisitely clear upon odd
parchment-like sheets, the editorials are brief, scintillating with wit
and powerfully impressive with honesty, sense and simplicity. That sort
of thing in our country would dwindle the subscriptions to bankruptcy.”

Suspicious, but not certain what Saxe. might be driving at and as I
never sassed the gentleman, I cautiously promised to look over the
journals he mentioned. Then, curious how the Centaurians had disposed of
Sheldon, I asked him about his plans.

“Oh, I’ll spend most of the time in the Ocstas,” he told me. “I am
forced to prove my theories, which have roused universal discussion.
Two societies with conflicting views will occupy caves in the close
vicinity of Yours Truly, just to watch the ‘wonderful operations.’
Quartered with me will be a crew of doubters, delegates from various
Geographical-Geological societies, who pretend to be assistants. The
Ocstas abound in mysteries, caves are innumerable, some tunneling far
into the mountains honeycombed with apartments. At one time, I
understand, these mountains were level country, and the caves are
ruins heaved up by some—er—awful eruption. Ahem! The Centaurians are
remarkable people, but move slowly. Give us six centuries the start
and we’d have traced that body of water to the heart of the earth. Of
course, I’m considered a crank, a huge joke, but these scientists are
the most absurd set I’ve ever run across. One eloquent individual
broadly hinted that a mania controlled me and thought it extremely
fortunate my attention was attracted to the Otega oceanlet, instead of
to the boiling sea at the pivot. But I’m a brave gentleman, you know,
the guest of Centauri, and at liberty to remove the Ocstas if
disposed. He did not doubt should a Centaurian, alive with a watery
hobby, stray to our side of the globe, reciprocal courtesies would be
extended and an ocean or two thrown in. Now, what d’ye think of that?

“I laughed—everybody did—and shouted for a reply. I told them every
argument indulged marked one year less of life, and that I would easily
prove all my assertions. And, Sally, I’ll remain in those damned
mountains till I prove one of two theories—Saxe.’s or mine. I’ll
discover the source of that ocean and trace the great arteries which
extend over the globe, or it’ll turn out a freak of nature, phenomenon,
die aftermath of something terrible. Saxe.’s theory is very plausible,
to some it would be the solution, but plausible theories are not always
correct ones. I’ll look for you often, Sally, a change, you know, is a
wonderful restorative.”

“Oh, I’ll run over occasionally,” I promised. “I believe in
restoratives, but it doesn’t always require a change.”

“Bravo! bravo!” he shouted, twirling his glass. “Luck to Sally, and
his—er—dangerous enterprise!”

Blushingly, I drank deeply.

“Better accompany Sheldon when he starts for the mountains,” Saunders
advised. “The polar scenery is no comparison to the fabulous Ocstas, and
that freak ocean is the strangest, most unnatural sight man ever looked
upon. I’ll never go up there again,” he added, “unless with approaching
dissolution I should meander. Spirits always hover over the places that
haunt them, theosophists whine. However, I’ll need relaxation, and it’s
my intention to explore every portion of this continent before returning
to my own. Probably I’ll even join the expedition to the moon. This
afternoon I go to the Observatory to remain indefinitely,” he continued,
“but lacking Sheldon’s penetration, I still have to discover how I stand
with my fellow scientists—we’ve already argued. They’ve been gaping at
the pale planet for centuries, producing some marvelous maps and
photographs, but are still in doubts about it. Opinions are varied,
wondrous. Some believe it an old moon vanishing; others, that it’s the
young blaze of a new sun, and I’m the only one positive. This pink
phosphorescence (Saunders assumed his lecture pose) is a new world
forming, a twin world to Earth, speeding, crashing through space with
mighty velocity, erratically circling this globe in continually
narrowing rings to sure disaster. The stellar twins cannot escape
collision, then—either we absorb or it absorbs. The Infinite forms a
mighty barrier against which all matter swirls grinding void. Should
Earth be the under world it forms the barrier impeding the mad rush of
that splendid pale mystery which, as it approaches, absorbs all life,
pulverizing this globe. Ahem! we don’t need to worry about it, though.”

He chuckled comfortably, ignoring Sheldon, who muttered as though much
relieved.

“I see great work ahead,” he continued happily. “In the science of the
stars we’re about even with these people of mighty energy and boasted
advancement. They follow a most complex system of astronomy, possibly
when I’ve mastered the intricacies I may perceive the wonderful progress
claimed; at present I believe my researches the most extended. Now who’s
going with me to the Observatory? Better all come and take a look
around; you can return this evening.”

Saxe. and Sheldon at once got busy with excuses. Before I could think up
anything plausible Mike ushered in several gentlemen whom Saunders
greeted effusively. Introductions followed. I was presented as the
“gentleman who would accompany the party to the Observatory.”

Glaring at Saunders I bowed acquiescence. His colleagues eyed me
curiously and slyly whispered: “The Virgillius.”

Saxe. and Sheldon were urged to join the party, but their regrets were
positive, and after a lively exchange of compliments we departed.



                              CHAPTER XV.


The Observatory, an odd circular building all turrets and balconies,
capped the summit of a lofty mountain which rose abruptly out of the
lovely bay surrounding the freak city of Centur.

The mystic enchanting quiet of this solitary mountain, with its dense
forest of stunted trees and towering fort of science, fired the
imagination with unwholesome ambition to accomplish grand
impossibilities, and I longed to pierce the unknown and reveal the
hidden light that gleams through the day and night. I told Saunders of
my singular emotions. He sighed sympathetically and suggested astronomy,
that impenetrable science which calms despondency in a profound
realization of the sublime vastness of—Nothing.

The marvels revealed through colossal telescopes fascinated me. Viewing
countless worlds swirling through space, strange unknown planets
bounding from dark obscurity, great globes of vapory fire churning for
centuries and centuries belching gigantic flashes, incited me to wild
speculation which ended in a positive conviction of the habitation of
the moon. This great wan sphere to telescopic vision appeared like a far
distant landscape, lofty mountains, wide plains lined with flickering,
silvery spaces, were sharply outlined against a vast area of vapory
whiteness which alternated dark and light flaring, at intervals, almost
transparent. There is atmosphere, life, habitation, upon the moon. The
interesting planet was suddenly enveloped in a far-reaching roseate mist
drifting from the east, which flared in a wide arch of splendor
vibrating spiked streamers of violet brilliancy, and from the depths of
this tinging glory Saunders’s weird, beautiful star slowly glided into
view, absorbing the ruddy reflection, till reaching the zenith the
strange fiery disc glimmered with a deepening, unflinching pink, and I
discovered Saunders’s star was very trying to the eyes, yet the swift
changing surface of the freakish planet fascinated. Amazed, I watched
the intense rose nebulous gradually pale, then lift, revealing a
luminous, mottled globe, circled with a hoop of livid green flame which
darkened ominously. A great black spot slowly widened, spread, and
engulfed the strange orbit, which silhouetted against the flashing
circle shone distinct, round as our globe.

It was a remarkable sight, but a sudden sharp pain through the eyes
abruptly ended observations. I blinked against the thousands of crimson
and violet discs that assail those who have looked too long at the sun
and finally sought relief in frequent cold bandages and rest.

Casually mentioning the matter to Saunders, he testily advised me not to
do it again; give up astronomy and return to Centur, suggesting that I
be quick about it; he didn’t want to be bothered. I informed him of the
result of my observations, to wit: That his phenomenal “discovery” was
naught but a great mass of congealed vapor subject to constant
disturbances and would eventually evaporate.

Saunders argued conscientiously, bringing out maps, conducting me over
zigzag astral routes, and explaining that at intervals the mystic planet
underwent semi-eclipse, but had observations been continued I would have
noticed the oblong pink nebulous soar above the dark obstruction and
caught a glimpse of an exquisite roseate scenery that was instantly
obscured in thick, rolling, fiery clouds.

I let him do most of the talking, he was more up on the subject than I;
but his explanations were long, tedious, and thoroughly wearied me. I
decided to give up astronomy. Yes, sir! I had all I wanted of astronomy,
but insisted that my suppositions were as acceptable as any—no one knows
more about it than the other, which is a mercy. The science is an
unfathomable mystery ... guesswork. We are one in trillions, the
neighboring lights wandering for eternity as we do and forming all
manner of wild conclusions.

I soon discovered the star-gazing clique regarded Saunders much as the
National Geographical-Geological societies regarded Sheldon. Saunders
was not considered a crank exactly, but he was primitive, ludicrous. His
statements, theories, were received with suppressed merriment. For
diversion the wise ones propounded the most impossible problems till
Saunders, like the scientist who once driven almost mad trying to solve
the unsolvable, seized his grandson and burdened the undeveloped mind
with the improbable. The simple straightforwardness of tender faculties
foreign of worry shredded intricacies and revealed the emptiness of all
mysteries. In this manner Saunders patiently answered all queries and at
the same time delivered himself of a rare truth.

“A scientist,” he informed them, “will sometimes, in the course of
experiment, chance upon a meteoric speck problem which immediately he
buries deep beneath a heap of scientific rubbish; then in absorbed
contemplation of shadows that stretch inquiringly forgets all about it.
A mighty problem develops with flickering memory, and in a vain attempt
to recall what is lost forever researchers are invited to delve into
that which takes centuries of martyred concentration to realize—wasted
inspiration never returns. Occasionally in this life the problem seeker
is rewarded, then he wonders why and if it was worth a life of probing.

“I don’t blame them,” said Saunders confidentially; “it is a wise man
who makes of every task diversion. To some extent I suppose I represent
what they were centuries ago, and the wide difference that does exist
they chose to overlook. But I’ll accomplish in less than three months
what they’ve been experimenting upon with failure for over fifty years.”

And Saunders was not at all deceived how he stood with the clientele. Of
one thing I was positive, Saxe., dear old Saxe. was equal to his
surroundings. His domineering intellect commanded respect and had no
superior. How I was regarded by these wise men did not concern me. They
were too advanced to meet my views and interested me as little as I did
them.

                  *       *       *       *       *

Before returning to Centur I thoroughly explored the strange mountain
island. Declining to descend in the pulley coaches, which darted down
the mountain side at regular intervals, I made my way to a narrow foot
path hewed in the rocks by centuries of travel. I was accompanied part
of the way by one of the Professors, who, probably anxious to be rid of
me, suddenly decided I didn’t interest him nohow and with remarkable
speed returned to the summit. I was glad the old boy and his prosy talk
were out of the way, as both had frequently made me lose my footing, and
having reached a point where the path widened and travel was made easier
by natural steps formed in the cliffs I was soon upon level ground, a
broad open road about fifty feet wide circling the base of the mountain
like a racetrack and enclosed with a high fortress-like wall.

Perched haphazardly among the cliffs were odd-looking, mound-shaped
stone huts, painted in all the soft tints of the rainbow. The effect was
ridiculously like a huge toy, a great cone of giant marbles.

I walked entirely around the mountain before encountering anything alive
and had decided to make a second trip when just ahead, advancing
rapidly, I spied the figure of a woman; tall, lithe, graceful. I
hastened forward, then stopped, gasped and bared my head before the
lovely child, for she was little more. She stopped also and gazed at me
with frank, curious eyes, a faint smile curved the perfect mouth, the
face was bewitching in its undeveloped, innocent beauty.

She held out her hand in welcome.

“Your name?” she asked.

“With pleasure,” I responded, “and yours?”

“Abella,” she answered simply. “But I was sure you were ‘The
Virgillius.’ I never heard of With-pleasure, before.”

She laughed merrily, and beneath the searching hazel eyes my face
flushed.

“I am Virgillius,” I hastened to inform her. “Virgillius Salucci.”

“‘The Virgillius!’” she cried in triumph. “I knew I could not be
mistaken. Ah,” she sighed ecstatically, “‘The Virgillius,’ he who braved
the dead North, that he might see the women of Centauri and impel them
to revive the lost art.”

This was one way of putting it, but not exactly what I crossed the Pole
for. I gazed with bold admiration at the beautiful young woman. She
seemed unaware of my warm glances, and as she took my arm, smilingly
inviting me to go with her, no mock modest blush marred the delicate
transparency of her skin. The women of Centauri do not blush—they have
nothing to blush for.

Abella led me to the side of the mountain facing Centur, then escorted
me up a long flight of steps and into one of the huge, emerald-tinted
marbles. A man, busy mending fish-nets, glanced up as we entered, then
hurriedly advanced to meet us. Abella gently pushed me forward and
presented “The Virgillius” to—her husband!

He greeted me cordially. A massive fellow head and shoulders above me,
and I a tall man. A fine man, but how did he come by such a lovely wife?
For according to the matrimonial system of this land these two were not
mates. Abella, aside from the peerless Alpha, was the loveliest morsel
of femininity I had seen in this land of beautiful women. I contrived to
see a great deal of her during my stay at the Observatory. I would
descend to the village in the early morning and not return to the summit
till the stars were out.

I sketched the girl in many poses. Features such as hers could be naught
but beautiful, however criminal the artist, and became very friendly
with the husband; a typical Centaurian, whose password was Equality.
This brawny fisherman had a wonderful flow of language, his intelligence
was deep, he knew when he had talked enough—a science many have still to
master on our side of the world.

The man was a magnificent specimen of the strange, soulless nature of
his race. Under circumstances that would have driven me mad with doubt
and irritation he was calm, serene. He permitted his young, lovely wife,
to spend hours in the society of one famous as Cupid.

Distorted in his mind, Love was a grotesque, fantastic bauble, a
fabulous folly; yet he claimed Love was not altogether unknown to him;
it filled a good space in the history of his ancestors and during
childhood, when the nights were long and wintry, he had been greatly
diverted with charming, impossible tales of tenderness. He frankly told
me my undertaking was most difficult—Love could not be resurrected; the
Dead were dead forever.

My tuition was undoubtedly excellent, and possibly I possessed the
approved modern methods, but he knew the women of Centauri, and they
would tire of the study ere they mastered the rudiments. Only once did
he exhibit any warmth or enthusiasm, and were I not positive he was
incapable of passion, I would have declared him enamoured with the
Priestess of the Sun. Her name accidentally mentioned inspired ecstasy.
She was divine, and he worshipped her. But between love and worship
there is a universe of difference. His wife presented the inevitable,
she was his affinity, his mate, his fate. He was not indifferent, but
she was not divine. They led a smooth, even, contented life together,
and I am willing to wager he never cursed his idiocy for wedding, nor
did she wonder daily what had become of her reason at the critical
period. But in this strange, unnatural world, the old Italian adage is
worn threadbare—“A woman is beautiful till she crosses the threshold of
her husband’s home, then she’s good all the rest of her days”
(translation ruinous).

The artistic, but practical, fisherman had before possession
appreciated the ravishing beauty of Abella. These people did not
differ so much from us; true, we could love, but preferred not to,
whereas they were bereft of inclination; still the grand finale was
marvelously similar—possession killed desire.

I had the audacity to show Abella some of my sketches. She examined them
critically, and, as the Centaurians are devoid of passion so are they
above deceit. This simple little fisher-girl told me I was not an
artist, that my work was crude and lacked character. She took me to her
brilliant overturned tea-cup of a home and showed me some of her crayons
and pastels. The artist had a bold, strong stroke, rather remarkable in
a woman, but taken all in all Abella did not excel in art any more than
I did. Landscape was her forte, as it is with all women. At once I
recognized the artistically crooked lines trailing across the faint
horizon.

Women are more clever than men; they rarely attempt what is beyond them.
Continual failure, due to overtaxation of capabilities, is entirely a
masculine trait.

I was quite frank with Abella, and she was wonderfully patient. Women of
my world ostracise unfavorable criticism, the spontaneous critic
embroils and is always a boor.

Abella told me she lacked talent, but that she was beautiful.

“And how do you know?” I asked stupidly.

“My husband is the most famous artist in the world and he has told me.”

“Excellent!” I cried. “If that mode were only popular in my land, vice
would become extinct. But we have not mastered the divine power of
resistance, we shrivel in egotism; and love—the genuine thrill is as
much a myth in my land as in yours—is recognized as the most malignant
form of insanity; marriage is the remedy which produces merciful
reaction. Truly are the men of Centauri wise, their wives are ever
beautiful, though unloved.”

Abella threw up her hands. “How very strange, and how very unhappy you
all must be!” she cried.

The dear child! So interesting to converse with one who cannot
understand ... beautiful, tedious, the two always go together; yet I had
been detained a week.

Undaunted by Abella’s frankness, I offered my sketches to the artist
fisherman for examination. He smiled indulgently, looked them over,
and desired them all, offering in return any one from his wonderful
collection. I agreed, and followed him to the top of his mound-shaped
home, entering a room strong with the odor of oil and paint. It was
the workshop of an artist; a studio is quite another place. Near the
window upon an easel was a half finished painting of sky, storm
clouds, with a background of thunderous, rolling, flame-tinged
vapor—the sullen red of a storm sun that no artist has as yet
mastered. The picture was powerfully impressive. The fisherman was a
master, his aim—individuality. But I could not admire his ideal of
feminine beauty. He was the creator of a Type, elongated, sombre,
gaunt, thick-lipped; yet in these impossible faces was that which
could not be found in one woman’s face in all Centauri—soul. The
artist had a cunning skill, he was able to depict that which he
lacked.

I looked in vain for a trace of the delicate loveliness of his wife, but
in all the work scattered about the walls there was not one sketch of
Abella.

He asked me if I had noticed his work in the Salon. I told him I had not
yet visited the Salon.

“My work is conspicuously hung,” he informed me. “You cannot overlook
any of it. I am the only painter in Centauri who refrains from defacing
canvas with initials. I come from a long line of artists; necessity made
us fishermen; yet each in his time was the foremost painter of the age.
I am that to-day; success is the heritage. Those divinely gifted with
genius strive for fame, glory alone; to barter that speck of gold which
the sun’s rays burned in us is sacrilegious. Sol! blind my eyes forever
to your golden brilliancy. I would as soon think of selling my wife
Abella.”

“And when you have reached fame, glory—what?” I asked.

“You do not quite understand,” he quickly replied, “it is not momentary
fame we seek; immortal fame is the goal we all strive for. But all who
are famous cannot be immortal, yet each believe immortality the just
reward; even Alpha, the Superb, yearns for immortal fame, and is wasting
her gorgeous youth in the effort.”

He turned to a huge stone chest or vault set in the wall; unbolting the
door he invited me to enter. There was sufficient light from the outer
room, and I saw shelves reaching from floor to ceiling ladened with
parchment canvases carefully covered with oil silk.

“Stored on those shelves are rare works of art representing the endless
toil of my ancestors,” explained the fisherman. “All were famous, but
one only attained immortality. You have been to the museum?” he asked,
drawing down a small canvas from an upper shelf. “Possibly you saw this
picture while there; it is a portrait of Alpha the First. This is the
original,” he continued. “History tells us Alpha the First reigned
during the era of Love, and the renowned painter, Francesco, was deeply
enamoured with her. But in a mood of exaltation she renounced Love, and
went in bondage to Culture, and Francesco, the painter, died of a
wounded heart.

“Culture opened a new epoch in this great world of ours, but brought
down malignant wrath upon Alpha the First, who being advanced beyond her
era, ignored the petulance of inferiors. To her the Centaurians are
indebted for the grand, vigorous race of to-day.

“Alpha the First did not long survive Francesco, the artist, whose
reward for deep suffering and anguish is immortality.”

I became deeply interested in the many treasures stored in the iron
room, but the work of the living artist surpassed them all.

He threw up his arms and laughed when I asked to see some of his
sketches of Abella.

“She is beautiful, but does not inspire,” he told me. “I fail when I
attempt to portray Abella. Life, animation, is her beauty; repose, the
death mask. Landscape is beautiful on canvas, but never reaches the
beauty of reality. Those women up there that I know you do not admire
have made me famous.”

He referred to the gaunt, dark-visaged ideal.

“All Centauri recognizes them as the type of a perverted age,” he
continued, “showing this race has lived through and conquered
degeneration. Those faces are arch, subtle, perfectly beautiful; to
study them is fascinating. The scowling brows arch, the eyes take deeper
tinges, and the lips—ah!”

I turned away smiling, muttering in jest.

He advised me when I returned to Centur to visit the Salon, there I
would find a portrait of Abella, “which impressed, but gave
dissatisfaction, lacking that which made Abella a beautiful woman.”

He opened an exquisitely carved cabinet and taking out an oblong leather
case, remarked: “that this was some of his first work.” Then, without
warning, he thrust before me a portrait of Alpha Centauri. I gasped.
Skill! Powers above! Alpha Centauri stood before me, marvelously
beautiful, enveloped in a broad stream of golden light, devout, with
eyes and arms raised heavenward, in the Temple of the Sun. I’m not
certain how I acted; men in love are usually maudlin. I had been away a
long time—must return—must see, speak with her at once! I implored,
begged for the portrait.

The man stared at me in amazement, then quietly closed the case and
pressed my hand upon it—the picture was mine.

He pitied, yet could not understand. As we parted, he murmured: “Very
unfortunate, great passion wasted. The women of the Great Family are
sacred; the men only mate.”

He invited me to call again, hoping that I would find leisure from my
many engagements to promise him at least one visit before returning to
my own country. His seeming sincerity was very complimentary. Flattery
is a strong point with the Centaurians.

I found Abella waiting for me in the vestibule, seated in a wide,
deep-silled window overlooking the bay.

Beautiful Abella—she had ceased to interest me.

“You have been long,” she murmured; “but the work is wonderful.”

“Your husband is a master,” I replied.

She looked happy, gratified, and asked me to be seated, pointing to the
place beside her. I declined, then with the brutality of indifference
told her I was going, would return to Centur that evening.

“So soon!” she gasped, a startled expression coming to the sweet eyes,
then she turned aside and in cold tones told me she regretted my
departure. It was enough. I should have gone, but the situation
tantalized gallantry. No man could have left her like that.

I drew the girl to me and slowly raised her arms till they rested around
my neck. “Abella,” I whispered: “You are sad that I go?” She raised the
lovely eyes brimful of tears, the sweet mouth with its full red lips
quivered, drooped, and was very close.

“Abella!” I murmured; then our lips met in a long, long kiss—her first
kiss of love. Ah, but she was beautiful!

With a low cry she darted from me and with her face well averted bade me
go.

“Go,” she muttered; “go to Alpha Centauri.”

With the name of the woman I worshipped reason returned. Without a word
I left her—left her forever.

Abella was completely forgotten in the exciting events that followed.
Possibly I acted wrong, but was innocent of harm, and did none. True,
Abella had met with an experience few women of Centauri ever encounter,
but I knew her brilliant eyes would be dimmed but a few minutes after my
departure, and in a very little time I would cease to be anything but a
remembrance, a pleasant remembrance circling in dreamy mist till
submerged, obliterated.

Abella and all the women of this strange land are devoid of depth, which
is the secret of their great beauty. Nothing affected them, the perfect
surface challenged contact with the cold hardness of gems, ills glanced
aside, leaving a placid, flawless mask.

I shall always remember Abella, but knew she had forgotten me long
before I left her wonderful and unnatural world.



                              CHAPTER XVI.


Saunders, whom I had not seen for several days, met me as I returned to
the Observatory. Undoubtedly one of his pet experiments had gone awry,
for he was peevish and spoiling for a fight. He very frankly informed me
he didn’t want me around any more, that arrangements were completed to
start that evening upon a gigantic piece of work and no idlers wanted.
“And I’ve spied the attraction!” he snapped. “Clear out; this is no
place for such tomfoolery.”

“But, Saunders!” I interrupted.

“Nonsense!” he cried. “Don’t deny it. I won’t have any tomfoolery around
here!”

“Oh, bosh! I return to Centur to-night, anyhow,” I told him; “and no
harm done; they’re different here.”

“Tomfoolery, all tomfoolery,” he grumbled, shaking his head obstinately.

An hour later, in company with a number of gentlemen, I boarded a ship
bound for Centur. Saunders puttered around for fear, by some mishap, I
might be left behind; but when we were ready to start he affectionately
clasped my hand and informed me that I was used to his crabbedness and
that it was out of gear for a crusty old chap to be in sympathy with
nonsense. If his plans succeeded he would be detained at the Observatory
only a month, then it was his intention to travel. He wanted me to run
over to see him whenever I had spare time. I promised in order to get
him off the ship, as he delayed departure.

We reached Centur early in the evening. The city, brilliant with lights,
presented a gala appearance. The glowing houses were gaudily festooned
with banners and greens, and from all floated the colors of Centauri.
The streets were canopied with flags formed in arches.

When I reached the palace I knew some great event was taking place.

The immense building was ablaze with lights, and draped across the
stately entrance, swaying gracefully in the light breeze, was a flag of
yellow shimmering material with a huge black crescent cutting the
center. The gardens were crowded with courtiers and guards, who pranced
and swaggered in gay, fantastic costumes. I was observed at once and way
was made for me. I heard my name carried from lip to lip and was gazed
at with curiosity, bordering on impertinence. In the usually deserted
halls of the palace stalked bold, dashing cavaliers, who saluted me
respectfully as I entered, but uttered irreverent undertones, which they
thought I could not understand. In confusion I stumbled over my own
feet, then became enraged at the cruel guffaws only half suppressed.
With relief I spied Mike’s familiar face as he hurried to meet me and,
with unnecessary speed, rushed me to my apartments and immediately
proceeded with my toilet. I was shaved, anointed, curled, my hands
dipped in scented water—I felt so effeminate.

“You are to present yourself at once to Alpha Centauri,” said Mike,
“hence my haste.”

“She expected me to arrive this evening?” I gasped eagerly.

“No,” Mike answered: “she gave this order when you departed, doubtless
expecting your early return, then forgot all about it; but I obey. There
is great rejoicing in the city and much doing in the palace.”

“What’s going on?”

“The King of the Vespa Belt has honored us with his long-promised
visit,” he replied.

“The King!” I cried. “What King? I thought Centauri ruled over all this
land.”

“He does,” Mike informed me, “but not the crescent Belt, separated from
us by the Great Ocean, and comprising one-third of this half of the
globe. Like the dark races the white people have divided into two. They
are wonderful, these people of the Vespa Belt, so-called, because in war
they cling together and fight like hornets. But civilization is slow
with them; they do not progress and are ruled by the passions. They
still love, hate, and still have their King who, however, is good, wise,
and rules through kindness. He is a descendant of the resolute, daring
immortal Benlial, who abolished the army and navy. We think a great deal
of the Vespa people; they regard us with affection, and in time will
join us. Centauri has often visited the Vespa Belt, but this is the
first time Benlial ever stepped upon Centauri soil. He has some mighty
scheme, or he would never take the trip over the Great Ocean at his age.
He greatly surprised us, heralding his approach just twelve hours ahead
with gigantic flaring images of himself across a midnight sky, but we
gave him a royal welcome.

“Centauri is with your friend, the famous Sheldon, in the Ocsta
Mountains; he has been apprised of the King’s visit and is expected any
moment. Benlial has been with us two days, the guest of Alpha Centauri.”

“What’s the mysterious motive back of the King’s visit?” I asked.

“The unification of the white race,” answered Mike.

“So you told me before,” I snapped; “how does he intend to accomplish
it?”

“Marriage,” was the monosyllabic reply.

God! A sudden weakness came over me, and my head sank heavily upon the
back of the chair. Mike turned aside, his action irritated me and,
impatiently, I bade him continue with his news and omit nothing.

“The King wishes the hand of Alpha Centauri in marriage for his son,
Prince Benlial. They are all Benlials, you know,” Mike explained.
“Should the marriage take place the Vespas and Centauris are one, but
never in the history of the Great Family have the feminine members
mated. They are divine, and all, at a certain age, are with much pomp
and festivity, publicly wedded to the Sun. Alpha Centauri became the
bride of the Sun ten years ago. The men of the Great Family mate with
whom they please. The mother of Alpha was an Octrogona, fairer than her
race and surpassingly beautiful. Progression is wonderful, it makes
simple the impossible. A century ago such a union as now contemplated
would have been looked upon as sacrilegious, now it is considered. Alpha
Centauri is the last of her name; should she die unmated the Great
Family becomes extinct. The marriage may take place, but the Priestess
of the Sun is a superb enigma, unapproachable, illusive as the star
which guides the destiny of her family.”

I ceased being a fool, bah! the man gossiped; yet I drank eagerly the
greenish liqueur handed to me. It warmed my chilled blood, the color
flushed my face, and boldly I mingled with the jolly Vespas that had
invaded the palace. I hurried down the crowded rooms, oblivious of the
curious glances leveled upon me. Alpha Centauri stood at the gates of
her miniature forest of exotic plants and perfumed lakes.

I marveled at the wondrous woman; never had she seemed so exquisitely
beautiful, gorgeously gowned, covered with blazing gems, even coiled
midst the raven locks rippling to her feet, yet crowned with the dull
gold cap, symbol of the Sun. But the woman was changed, the glorious
eyes heavy-lidded, always veiled, now flashed with brilliant
intellectuality, the sweet lips parted in a gracious smile, and her form
swayed with gentle grace in conversation.

Alpha Centauri was transformed, transformed into a glorious creature of
the earth. The cold, repellant, mystical sphinx was no more, and it was
I—I who had forced her from her pedestal into the pulsing, passionate
arms of Life. She was mine! I created her! The fabulous creature of my
dreams, the ideal was realized.

Fears vanished. I was confident, supreme. The force of my adoration
would draw this woman to me as now my ardent glances drew her eyes to
mine. The fair face flushed and impulsively she threw out her arms in
glad welcome. I hurried to her, yet my quick glance embraced the man
beside her. Father Neptune, as I live! Giant in form with heavy locks
and beard; gross, flushed, jolly, with sharp, pale eyes that flashed
intense admiration upon the lovely girl at his side.

Alpha murmured a welcome as I raised her hand to my lips, then presented
me to the King of the Vespa Belt. He extended his hand graciously, and
in condescension resembled all the little kings of my world.

He spoke in a deep bass and gave me to understand he was pleased to meet
“The Virgillius,” who came from the other side, while his sharp, little
eyes plainly asked—and, what the devil did you come for?

But he was an entertaining old boy, a clever raconteur; his forceful
manner and rather coarse wit rolled around an eloquent tongue compelling
laughter though one should not. He thoroughly enjoyed his own risque
jests, and I never heard the finale of a racy affair wherein figured a
disheveled damsel and a ship in mid-air fluttering disastrously, for
sudden cheers and shouts of “Centauri!” rang from the gardens and echoed
through the great halls. People crowded to the windows and into the
vestibule, but the throngs hushed and parted as old Centauri entered,
tall, grave with heavy dignity. I tarried not to watch the greeting
between the two great men, but drew Alpha deeper into her ethereal
forest, far amid dim lights and slumbering birds, the air heavy with
pungent odors of strange blossoms. She sank upon a mossy couch. With a
sigh of ecstasy I flung myself at her feet.

“You did miss me a little?” I asked.

She smiled softly and gazed musingly at me.

“Yes, a little,” she finally answered. “I wanted some one to talk to who
would understand. I’ve spent hours in idleness and dreams, yet have not
wasted time. I have formed plans, brilliant plans for the future, which
appears rosy and hopeful. The chill of cold facts are freed from my
being, the world is brighter, gayer. I am wondrously beautiful, and have
discovered there is happiness, much happiness in foolishness.
Virgillius, my whole life has changed. Now I live—live, and would not
return to the old existence for a world full of knowledge. I am raised
supreme in vast expectations. I worship, ah! an image of my brain. I
love deeply, wholly, a man—I’ve never seen!”

She leaned back against a giant plant, and with voluptuously uplifted
arms smiled the smile of selfishness, rapt in her own passion, cruelly
oblivious to the despair she inflicted.

“Yes,” she continued. “I have learned the lesson. I have mastered
the science of Love, the key to all emotion, the passion root of
humanity, which a universe of knowledge cannot wither. Yet does my
faith follow me in this new life. Sol is my god, and the god of the
universe—immortality, the supreme reward.

“This phantom which inspires me exists, it is ordained we meet. There is
a wave of emotion deeper, stronger than mine, so powerful my soul is
drawn from me. I visited the laboratory this morning, the first visit in
days. The valuable liquid of eternal youth had evaporated, the
ingredients clung to the side of the vessels in fine powder; all was a
dead loss, the work of years in ruins, yet I felt no regret; and while I
mused upon the sinful waste and wondered at my indifference, I was
startled by a rushing, flooding noise, and the dense white film which
suddenly descended clouding my sight, but fear quieted in silvery sweet
sounds. Then gradually the mist floated, undulated, and shaped into a
hovering, indistinct form that beckoned—with a shriek I regained my
senses. And, Virgillius, though our souls met, communed in the
laboratory, I imagined I was here, alone with my flowers and birds—we
meet here, my affinity! I am impatient.”

For the second she forgot me entirely in some sweet reverie, then with a
start roused herself. The lovely face changed sharply and I was jarred
by the conventional laugh that chills. She rose hastily.

“Come, Virgillius,” she commanded, “return with me; we should never have
dallied in this dim retreat.”

She hurried forward. I sprang to my feet and followed her.

“Alpha,” I called, catching her arm. “King Benlial, what message does he
take to his son, the Prince?”

For an instant she seemed puzzled. Then her great eyes blazed
scornfully. “I am the Priestess of the Sun!” she cried. “I worship a
god! My descendants shall unite the white races.”

She hurried away, and I sighed with relief, but chuckled gleefully as I
thought of the chagrin of old Benlial. He and Centauri had left the hall
hours ago, presumably to discuss affairs of state.

I joined the group surrounding the fair Priestess of the Sun and edged
my way to her side. The guests were departing reluctantly. I thought
they would never go, but at last Alpha and I remained alone in the
great, brilliantly lit rooms.

“Good-night, Virgillius,” she murmured, as I raised her hand to my lips.
“Come on the morrow as early as you wish, I will tell you of my plans.”

She tried to free her hand, then smiled softly. The tender light in her
eyes emboldened me. I drew her to me and flung my arms around her. “You
who love so deeply and truly,” I whispered; “why, ah, Alpha, are you so
cruel to me?”

“Oh, you do not understand love at all!” she interrupted, quickly
passing from my embrace. “You did not willingly love, you were forced
into it—and you love a woman. With you, Love is passion, desire,
recreation; you will outlive it and love as deeply again. In your mind
is ample space for other thoughts. You are not my affinity. It was not
destined we should mate. I adore till death and for the sake of adoring,
it is absolute. I love a god, perfect mentally, physically. Should the
substance lack either perfection, it is fate, and I’ll be true to the
shadow. Ah, Virgillius, I am not ungrateful. I do not forget it is to
you I owe this wondrous new existence, and—well—it is late; I will see
you in the morning.”

All women have ideals, those lacking this sweet sentiment are not worth
winning. Alpha, the beauteous, was only a woman after all, passionately
enamoured with an ideal she would never meet. An ideal—fiddlesticks! I
inspired this passion for a shadow. Alpha Centauri is mine. I created
her.



                             CHAPTER XVII.


The heat was intense. It was impossible to remain in my rooms, and my
nerves were at such tension that I decided to hunt up Saxe, for
relaxation. I knew I would find him awake and busy; he always worked at
night, declaring the brain was clearer, more vigorous during the dark
hours, and that all great ideas have been figured out by candle light. I
softly stepped into the hall, the dim lights flickered in a slight
draught, all seemed silent, yet distinctly a low murmur of voices
reached me. I hurried down the broad vista of shining stairs, the bronze
entrance stood wide as always, there were no sentinels in this wondrous
land of harmony. As I neared the grand vestibule, the voices raised
loud, discordant in angry dispute, and I paused in astonishment. A
brilliant light suddenly flared from the Audience, or Throne Room, where
royal magnificence defied comparison. A sultry silence, followed by the
rustling of silks, warned me I had barely time to conceal myself behind
the huge fluted column which supported the dome, when a door swung wide
and Alpha Centauri stepped out, her bearing that of a Queen, a
disdainful, arrogant Queen. By her side was the Vespa King, wild with
rage; in the rear Centauri stood, arms uplifted in dismay and
bewilderment.

“At least meet Prince Benlial,” snorted the angry King, trying to detain
her. Alpha gazed scornfully upon him.

“I do not refuse to meet the Prince,” she answered, “but shall be absent
from Centur indefinitely. However, when I return will give him an
audience.”

“Bah!” scoffed the King, unable to control his fury. “Leave the veneer
for publicity; we are alone, be natural. You must meet my son, and cold,
superior, as you think you are, you will——.”

Quickly she raised her hand, commanding silence.

“Useless!” she told him. “You have my decision. I am the Priestess of
the Sun, and shall never wed.”

She walked slowly away, the King watched her with bulging eyes, too
furious for speech. Suddenly she turned and flashed him a brilliant
smile.

“My greetings to Prince Benlial. Should he ever visit Centur, a royal
welcome awaits him.”

She courtesied deeply in mockery; the interview was at an end.

The King stamped with rage and would have followed her, but Centauri
remonstrated and drew him into the room, gently closing the door.

Alpha paused, shrugged her shoulders, and glanced disdainfully at the
closed door.

“The Prince of the Vespa Belt—ouff!” she muttered. Then she flung her
arms high and whispered in adoration: “I am true, faithful; yours
entirely.” Her eyes closed in passionate ecstasy, a smile of exquisite
joy stole over the lovely features, as in a dream she proceeded on her
way.

I watched till she passed from view. She had learned the lesson well—an
apt pupil who had not been taught, who had never forgotten. Remembrance
had tarnished, a slight pressure upon the fabulous spring and the
sensitive wires vibrated with rejuvenated vigor. Hurray! return to your
Belt, oh Vespa King—sic!

Accosting the first pedestrian I inquired the way to Professor
Saxlehner. Following directions, I soon reached Saxe.’s dwelling, which
was brilliantly lit from top to bottom. The house seemed all frontage,
wide, flat, and very shallow. I touched a conspicuous knob, the door
startled me, as, clanging violently, it slid up. There stood Saxe. at
the far end of the hall waiting for the intruder, but seeing me he
shouted welcome.

“Thought you intended to stay for good with Saunders,” he told me after
the greeting. “What consumed the time? Surely not Saunders! Never mind,
tell it to me later. The Centaurians do things in style; my workshop is
a great improvement upon the old one, but, confidentially, Virgillius,
give me the attic every time; there the ideas came without wasting hours
thinking them up. This luxury inspires yawns. I don’t see how these
people ever made such rapid headway.”

And Saxe. was right, the place resembled a lady’s boudoir, all silken
cushions, soft carpets and rainbow tints.

“But it’s pleasant to rest here when I’m tired,” he continued. “I don’t
object to the frippery, it’s all in a lifetime. The rear is serious
enough.”

“And breeches more comfortable, eh, Saxe.?” I nudged him.

“No comparison, my boy!” he replied. “I’m done with petticoats, a man
can’t do anything in them but try to look pretty. No wonder women spend
most of their lives primping, it’s the petticoats. I’ve found a tailor
who knows his business. Imagine us returning to our own land rigged up
in the sort of thing you’ve got on! Yes, sir! I feel like Saxlehner now.
Sheldon’s done the same thing; says the climate of the Ocstas is too
arctic for tights.”

I decided to don trousers again.

“Yes,” Saxe. advised, “bundle the drapery out; it makes you look like
the bearded lady. Now for the _Propellier_. The new machine is a great
improvement upon the old one; the defects of the first are remedied in
the second—don’t advertise it.”

He showed me two or three tiny wheels, several great long screws and
rivets, and two gigantic pieces of filigree work cast in glittering
metal.

“Pure gold,” he informed me, “cast in crystal molds over a furnace of
electricity. It took me several days planning and figuring for the
molds, yet, by George! the factory delivered them in a few hours. That’s
rapid work for you! Molds should always be of crystal.”

“But the gold!” I interrupted; “is the whole machine to be cast in
gold?”

“Of course! What of it?” he cried. “It’s manufactured by wholesale and
on the market like lumber. Look here.”

He opened the adjoining room and showed me the gold stacked up in blocks
ready for use.

“Is it absolutely pure?” I asked.

“Well,” he replied, “it’s stood every test I’ve made upon it. Beyond
doubt it’s the same article that’s so scarce on our side. I held out for
steel, but the durability of gold was pointed out, and it was explained
the _Propellier_ would be in the museum for all time, and gold was the
metal. I wouldn’t argue with them. They are going to publish books with
exquisite illustrations, the date and details of when Potolili first
sighted us and the car. Little guide books will be issued, explaining
all about the strange little steel car and gold _Propellier_, presented
to the people of Centauri by the renowned Professor Saxlehner. ‘Renowned
Saxlehner’ sounds first rate—ahem! Now look at this.” He opened a small
box stuffed with silk floss and took out a huge diamond the size and
shape of a pecan and of dazzling brilliancy. “For the _Propellier_” he
explained; “a perfect gem without a flaw, yet not genuine. Yes,
Virgillius, the Centaurians have discovered the secret; this stone is as
perfect as any ever taken from the mines. Before returning home I shall
master the intricate combination of gold blocks and diamonds. Nearly all
the genuine gems of Centauri have been placed in the museum. The
manufactured article is the standard; man’s ingenuity is rated
invaluable. Notice the ruby, it contains a fire never seen in the most
famous gems of our world; but the stone that defies penetration is the
emerald. It guards its secret well and is very rare. Many have attempted
to produce the stone and turned out fairly good imitations, but
imitation was failure, a perfect emerald must be produced. Half a
century ago a noted scientist delved into the mystery of the emerald. In
his efforts to get ahead of competitors he experimented upon the sacred
emerald loaned to him from the museum and actually reduced it to liquid.
Old Centauri was sent for and found the scientist frantically trying to
analyze the liquid, under the impression it would shortly petrify again,
but, to the amazement of both, the strange greenish liquid dwindled and
evaporated—that ended the emerald problem with the scientist. He
succumbed to an ailment unknown to physicians, and it is believed he
inhaled the emerald. Scientists declare the fatal incident analyzed the
emerald. The gem is composed of congealed poisonous gases petrified. The
emerald man became famous because he came nearer solving the green
mystery, but his secret died with him. When pressed to divulge he
replied: ‘My experiment failed; had I produced the perfect stone the
knowledge would have been free to all. I produced nothing and lost the
emerald, as I feared I would. Failures are enervating, should remain
obscure; the time in this sphere is too short to ponder over them.’”

Saxe. told me many curious things about the Centaurians and their
wonderful discoveries. We talked till daybreak. He made me promise to
visit him daily and be useful, but it was several months before Saxe.
and I met again. I returned to the palace and wandered in the gardens,
waiting impatiently for the summons from Alpha Centauri. But I was
disappointed; though I sent many messages, she refused to see me that
day and, womanlike, gave no reasons. I idled the glorious morning away
in the gardens, then towards noon started for the city in quest of
Saxe.’s intelligent tailor. The man seemed to regard my order as an
honor, and to my request promised to give it his personal attention and
I would have the garments as early as I desired. He informed me the
costume was ancient, but occasionally seen on the stage, and there was a
general impression the mountaineers of the Vespa Belt still wore it.

He took my measure and again promised to accommodate me at the earliest
possible moment. I decided the next time Alpha and I met she would
behold a gentleman of the period of my world.

Strolling leisurely about the city, pondering upon the advisability of
visiting Saxe. again, I suddenly sighted a tall, majestic building,
whose portals stood wide with a gigantic statue of the angel Genius,
smiling a welcome. It was the Salon, and remembering the artistic
fisherman and fair Abella, I entered the gallery with much curiosity. I
remained till sun-down. The fisherman’s work was above and beyond
anything in the gallery, not for merit, but originality. He aimed at the
mysterious, the startling, and charmed the imagination. An artist who
daringly flings upon the world a picture of dull sky and half-obscured
moon is a master.

Originality is the child of imagination; Fame, the blossom.

There were many clever artists in this strange land, possibly more
clever than the extraordinary fisherman, but their work lacked
individuality and paled into insignificance before the wild combination
of vivid, gaudy shades blended by the greatest artist in the world.

But as I viewed the portrait of the beauteous Abella, my admiration for
her husband’s art dwindled considerably. In the pink-and-white,
simpering portrait the artist betrayed his lack of skill; he failed
utterly to produce Abella’s delicate archness and made her loveliness a
type to compare with his strange ideal of pervertedness. A long panel
canvas revealed the dark-browed, intense production posed impossibly
statuesque; deep, gloomy, intelligent eyes, the whole vivid with that
which was lacking in the painted prettiness of Abella. It was a
masterstroke placing the two side by side, the one fair, smiling,
shallow, the other dark, wintry, magnetic. The failure was obscured; the
ideal charmed the eye and attention.

I was wondering which type I admired when startled by the sudden flare
of lights in the building—the signal of the setting sun—and instantly
forgot all types but one and hurried away in happy anticipation.

I found Mike greatly perturbed. He told me every one in the palace had
been thrown in great confusion by the tempestuous King of the Vespa
Belt.

“Alpha Centauri honors the traditions of her family,” he informed me.
“She proclaims herself Priestess of the Sun, and that her celestial
duties do not include the unification of the white race. King Benlial
departed at sun-down. Friendly relations between the two countries are
at an end. Centauri and his daughter escorted the wrathy King to his
ship. In loud, excited tones, he told them the Prince would visit
Centur. ‘Greetings,’ Alpha replied, ‘the people of Centur will welcome
the Prince when honored by his presence.’ Her stateliness, serenity,
superiority to the man before her—it was sacrilegious to dream of mating
her with the son of such a barbarian!”

Mike waxed indignant.

“Centauri watched the departure of their royal visitor till the ship was
out of sight,” he continued, “then seeing me near, the Priestess of the
Sun beckoned and bade me tell you she would consult with you in the
morning.”

“I will not see her to-day at all then!” I cried.

Mike shrugged his shoulders.

“She is closeted with her father, deep in discussion of important state
matters,” he told me.

“Will the Prince visit the city?” I foolishly asked.

Without the least hesitancy he replied: “Certainly; Alpha must mate, the
last of her people. Prince Benlial may prove worthy.”

This was consoling. I dismissed him and, weary, disappointed, retired.
My slumbers were disturbed with lurid visions of Prince Benlial, and one
poppy scene more vivid than others roused me with heartache and I awoke
moaning. The sun streamed into the room, a slanting flame seared
straight across my eyes, but through the blur I saw Mike tip-toeing
about with disapproving glances fixed upon a heap of clothing fragrant
with newness. He strenuously objected to the new clothing, but curious,
and unable to assist me, keenly watched my preparations. When I stood
complete before him he turned me around admiringly.

“You look very well,” he remarked; “but appeared better yesterday.”

“Nonsense!” I retorted. “I look better and feel more like myself now
than since entering Centur.”

He smiled, bowing deeply.

“Alpha Centauri awaits you,” he said. “You were to be so informed the
moment of awakening.”

I pushed him aside, shaking my fist at his chuckle and hurried to meet
the sweet woman who was certainly making life a very unhappy problem for
me. She received me with a veiled glance and smiled tenderly as I raised
her hand to my lips. I chided her for breaking her appointments.

“Ah, Virgillius,” she replied. “No plans could be perfected till the
departure of wrathy King Benlial. I am not divine, and love begets
selfishness. I will not sacrifice myself for the people.”

The Vespa Prince—finis!

We spent the entire day together. Over and over again she told of her
deep infatuation for—nothing. Poetically, impassionately, she described
the image of her dreams, and no man on earth could ever reach the
perfections of the idol this girl had erected to worship. Then I learned
of her plans. Alpha Centauri, for the first time in her life, was to
leave Centur and tour the world. A large party of friends had been
invited to travel with her and the government ship _Centur_ was placed
at her disposal.

“I have frequently been urged to do this,” she told me; “advised that I
should become familiar with the world I would some day rule; but I
demurred; science was more interesting. I lived a painfully narrow
life—what a wonderfully different view you have created! Virgillius, I
go in search of the god of my dreams.”

And the secret was out. Alpha Centauri would search for and, if
possible, possess this man of her imagination, and forever bring
damnation upon her soul. What woman is happy with the individual she
thinks her affinity?

“Suppose your search should prove futile,” I maliciously suggested.

“That is impossible,” she replied confidently; “my love exists.”

I inquired if she would visit the Vespa Belt.

“No,” she answered quickly. “My ideal could not be found among the Vespa
people; but we shall sail low and slowly over the Belt that you may see
it. It will take about two days to sail from one point of the crescent
to the other and five days of stormy weather over the vast waters that
separates the Belt from this land. Altogether we shall be absent many
months. Centauri does not accompany us; he is much interested in the
daring exploits of your great friend, Sheldon, and will pass most of the
time in the Ocstas—and, Virgillius, we sail to-morrow evening at
sun-down.”



                             CHAPTER XVIII.


The following day was one of excitement and petty anxieties. I
constantly feared the wonderful young woman would, at the last moment,
change her mind and electing to remain faithful to her “Fancy,” declare
the tour off. But I was far from understanding Alpha Centauri. She
directed preparations with a cool energy that was beyond alteration, and
impatient to depart, would have sailed from Centur before noon but
superstition prevailed—a lucky voyage must always be started at
sun-down.

I accompanied Alpha to the Temple of the Sun where she led the high-noon
devotions. For the time she forgot her new emotions in fanatical worship
of the Sun as the broad rays streamed upon her. All Centur knew she
would that evening set out to see the world, and people crowded the
streets to cheer their beloved Priestess and wish her bon voyage. They
cheered her beauty and piety, and because she had sent King Benlial to
his Belt disappointed. I alone knew the object of the tour.

                  *       *       *       *       *

That evening, at sun-down, we boarded the good ship _Centur_. As the
great wings fluttered and the vessel slowly rose, vast crowds shouted
good luck to us, and Alpha waved the colors of Centauri in response.
Then suddenly we darted ahead into infinite blue plains and the search
for a god began.

It is impossible to describe the many strange, wonderful sights seen
upon those travels. We skimmed swiftly over marvelous violet-blurred
cities, dense forests cut with silvery, winding streams, and over long
snow-capped mountain ranges. Frequently the ship fluttered to earth, and
a day was idled away in fishing or gathering wild fruit and flowers, and
once we nestled upon a lofty peak that pierced the clouds and viewed the
mountain girdled with sleet, ice and snow, yet where we rested the grass
grew rank, and some delicate pink blossoms I gathered drooped at the
breast of Alpha Centauri.

It took nearly two days to cross a great tract of prairie land and we
flew with dizzy velocity over five great oceans; the roaring,
mountainous waves swirled frantic for life. It seemed impossible ships
ever navigated these fierce waters, yet they did centuries ago, but
disasters had been appalling. As we gazed downward, awed by the
stupendous vastness of the earth, the universe, we reverently pondered
over the reason of this gigantic creation.

“Bred of Sol, Virgillius. It is the true faith; how obscured the
intellect that reasons otherwise. Sol, do not doubt, Virgillius, Sol
always.”

Argument is more debilitating than cold in the head. The extraordinary
belief of this beautiful Centaurian made her adamant, and I desired the
woman, not the belief.

We visited all the large cities of this world; great cities of commerce
and gigantic industry, and were royally entertained. Our approach,
heralded hours in advance, signaled great festivities. These people of
advanced views proclaimed Wisdom sovereign, but Old Centauri is monarch
of this land of wise men, and Equality is as mythical here as in my
world. The Great Family is supreme, and Alpha, my Alpha, is Princess of
Centauri.

One continual nationality lacks individuality; travel in my world is far
more interesting, yet Centauri is beautiful, a wonderful vision of
superb development; but see one city and you’ve seen them all.

Alpha Centauri entered these marvelous cities quivering with
expectations, radiant with hope, but departure was invariably hastened
by bitter disappointment and, in despair, she finally suggested the
return to Centur. I brusquely advised her to continue traveling,
reminding her that once in Centur all hope was ended. Then endeavoring
to console I talked long and earnestly about ideals never realized and
succeeded in rousing anger, which is better. She reproached me for
“planting this image of torture in my brain,” and “you class me with the
absurdities of six centuries ago.”

“Ah, Virgillius,” she continued: “this phantom of my brain has an
adoration far exceeding mine, a powerful magnetism forced me upon this
tour. All ideas, no matter how fabulous, have had previous existence.
What the brain conceives can be realized; nothing is impossible. Life is
the most fabulous illusion in the universe—a marvelous creation of Sol.
Virgillius, the magnetism of your idea forced you into a stupendous
folly, but you realized.”

“I realize, but it does not bring me peace or happiness,” I retorted.

“You sought and worshipped beyond your sphere,” she quickly answered.
“The current of Thought met, crashed, and lost power in evaporation; the
union of magnets creates disaster. Virgillius, I have a great longing to
return to Centur, some force urges me. To travel farther is needless.
Ah, how selfish is my passion! I follow your advice, the tour
continues.”

So we sailed onward, and into a corner of her vast knowledge Alpha
Centauri stored the wisdom of deceit. She smiled and appeared gay,
happy, when heart-sick, disappointed and bored. She preferred solitude,
lost her brilliant coloring and the grave, frank eyes became dull,
fatigued. Those traveling with us paid little heed to her erratic ways,
believing she was deep in the study of some new scientific
discovery—which she was—and had it not been for my pleasant surroundings
it would have been a toss-up between the air ship and Saxe. After all,
Saxe. & Co. were to be envied. The _Propellier_ was faithful to Saxe.,
the stars true to Saunders. Only Sheldon and myself were excavating with
doubts as to our landing.

Alpha Centauri had gathered about her many charming people, their
entertaining company made life bearable during the tedious ending of the
tour. There were several ladies with husbands, two young girls with
cavaliers, and an interesting Mamma who did the talking for them. The
girls were very pretty and the cavaliers devoted. One was a young
doctor—we’ve all met him. The other was a descendant of the man who
melted the emerald and kept it to himself. Naturally the young man was
rather mournful and stilted, his pride was inherited—keeping a secret is
a most acrobatic feat. There was a companionable literary man constantly
deep in inspired thought. He did not alarm with allusions to the plot of
his forthcoming book, but occasionally boasted of a world of his own—as
they all do—and limited his conversation to current topics. His
briefness was fascinating—an art.

Then we had a mineralogist whose deep scientific problem was—sleep.
Occasionally he woke up and became as frisky as a boy of fifty. His wife
was the only woman I ever met who could keep up an incessant chatter and
still be interesting. There was a tragedian, playwright, all in one,
including a wife. The tragedies this gentleman wrote were excellent
farces. He was the greatest humorist of the time. His wit was sharp,
broad and frequently coarse, but he handled his subject with such rare
delicacy that it took a couple of days to discover that he shouldn’t
have told the joke and we shouldn’t have laughed. The wife was a
beautiful, fair woman of that type that most men are willing some other
fellow shall possess.

Everybody was very kind to me, and were I not so desperately in love and
therefore desperately unhappy, I would have greatly enjoyed the trip
throughout this strange land.

The country was rapidly changing in appearance. We sailed over a range
of burnt, dwarfed mountains enclosing completely a vast desert which
narrowed to meet a neck of land that stretched across the ocean,
connecting Centauri with the Vespa Belt. This connecting land was fifty
miles long, twenty wide, and most of the time submerged.

“You are viewing the ancient battlefield of the Vespas and Centauris,”
the literary man informed me. “The last war they had lasted forty years,
closed with carnage, and should be eliminated from history. The reading
is not elevating and neither have anything to be proud of. It occurred
during the early ages when civilization ignored the earth which was
inhabited by savages and beasts, the beasts being superior and more
humane. What the war was over I’ve never discovered, nor has any one
else; but it was conducted upon the most hellish plans. During one
engagement the Vespas invaded too deeply the Centauri desert, their idea
to surprise the enemy, who were ambushed in the hills. They were
permitted to advance well inland, then suddenly the Centauris appeared
and surrounded them. Not one Vespa returned to the Belt, but scouts
informed the crescent people what had happened. The ancient King Benlial
was a demon, the Vespas were enraged, and early the following day the
Centauris were astounded to see another Vespa army marching across the
neck. The Centaurians yelled their scorn of the advancing army and
rushed to meet it. The battle was fought upon the peninsula, the Vespas
gradually retreating; then suddenly, as though panic-stricken, turned
tail and fled. The Centaurians, wild, drunk with victory, pursued them
closely and at first did not see the tremendous wall of water rising,
cutting off all escape. They realized when the land sank and mountainous
waves engulfed them. It was a fiendish revenge; the Vespas are rightly
named.”

The literary man gave a shrug of disgust. I had passed from his vision
long ago. He was conversing with himself, a habit most literary people
effect, and he walked away as unconcernedly as though I’d never existed.
I wondered if he had really repeated history or simply reviewed a scene
from his new romance.

We were crossing this historical neck of land now and all were on deck,
gazing curiously at the dim outlines of the Vespa Belt.

Alpha Centauri joined us, pale, listless, heavy-eyed, and gave orders
for low sailing that we could more distinctly view the possessions of
King Benlial. She confidentially told me she would remain in seclusion
during the journey over the Vespa Belt, and mournfully shook her head
when I begged permission to visit her.

“The Vespa Belt has no charms for me,” she murmured. “Ah, Virgillius, do
not be downhearted, you have taught me the value of unhappiness, life is
incomplete without it. I am not despondent, but tortured with doubts; he
whom I seek waits at Centur, but I have suffered disappointment so often
I dread another. Do not think of me, join the others. I shall not see
you again till we are crossing the Great Ocean.”

She sighed heavily and entered her cabin before I could prevent. The
door closed between us and bitterly I regretted teaching her the
knowledge of misery. Love had robbed her of individuality, damning her
with a craving for the unattainable worse than death, whose soothing
balm of peace, rest and vacant identity was far more cheerful than
eternal yearning. From my heart I wished I could make her the radiant,
soulless, happy creature she was before we met. I would give all I
possess if I had never crossed the Pole, and suddenly a longing came
over me to see once again dear old Middleton.

Traitorous thoughts galloped upon me. I had become enamoured with a
bright, glorious vision. Reproaches, sad eyes, mournfulness were killing
my passion. Bah! the vision still exists; I created it; but Centauri,
who enslaved me, was fading.

I joined the others, who were leaning over the ship’s side, gazing
curiously at a village we were sailing over. We could see the people
crowding into the narrow streets and from our ship came a faint report,
followed by a cloud of deep violet smoke which curled upward, twisted
and looped till finally the word “Centauri” floated in space beside us.
At the sight the crowds below shouted and cheered; we bellowed response.
Toward evening we passed over a lovely bay, the air was soft, balmy and
we remained upon deck till near midnight. The time passed swiftly
between the Literary Man and Humorist, while the ladies sang in clear,
sweet voices. We turned in when a sudden icy squall struck us, and the
last view we had of the new country was of dark, gloomy mountains.

Next morning before sunrise I was on deck, but my traveling companions
were earlier and joshed me unmercifully. The Literary Man was
persistently witty about oversleeping—he’d been up all night and regaled
us about the wondrous sights we’d missed. We had sailed over three great
cities brilliant with light, humming with revelry, some celebration
going on. “And,” he continued, “these Vespa savages have built wonderful
cities of superb architecture. I think we’re approaching the royal city
of Benlial. See the height of those monstrous domes, the steeple of one
temple has tried to pierce the sun. The ancient city of Benlial has for
ages been the theme of poets.”

We were sailing over vast grain fields and meadow-land where thousands
of cattle grazed, and far in the distance, gleaming white, phantom-like
through the mist, we saw a great city. As we neared this spectral, poem
city, the mist cleared before the strong, hot rays of the rising sun,
and beneath us stretched a scene of fabulous beauty. Thoroughfares of
marble lined with gigantic palms, whose huge branches arched from side
to side, high domed buildings of pure white marble surrounded with vast
gardens gorgeous with bloom. Poverty could not exist in this luxurious
city. The ship sailed lower that we might view closer this paradise of
earth. Nestling in the center of extensive gardens, miniature lakes and
streams, forced cataracts and high spraying fountains was the jewel-like
palace of Benlial—a long, flat, shining building.

“Here in the heart of civilization is a barbaric relic of what the Vespa
people were,” remarked the Literary Man. “They have been working
centuries upon that palace and are still adding to it; it will never be
completed. The architecture is valuable only for antiquity and
hideousness,” he continued, “and tasks the ingenuity of modern
architects to follow the original plan. The building is entirely of
mosaic.”

“Taken as a whole it is of remarkable beauty,” I blurted out. “There’s
not another building to compare with it in the wide world.”

Everybody became greatly interested in the strange palace with its
numerous domes, steeples and beautiful lacey archways—an abode for
gnomes and fairies, the crown jewel of the Vespa Belt, its diadem of
artistic glory. Centauri with all her wonders could not boast of any
work to compare with this marvelous palace.

Slowly, reluctantly, we sailed from the superb marble city with its
gleaming white edifices, mosaic palaces and vast boulevards haunting the
memory, so that in dreams the beautiful scene is revisited again and
again. This crescent-shaped country was cultivated from point to point,
and boasted a population of over forty millions. The Vespas worshipped
the Sun, but enjoyed the dusk. In Centauri twilight is unknown, and the
state of progression between the two countries was not worth warring
over—they were _tanto per tanto_.

The morning of the third day we reached the extreme north point of the
Belt and sighted the Great Ocean. The air was misty, ice cold, and a
piercing salt breeze suddenly turned to a terrific gale and tore and
whistled around the ship forcing her ahead at a dizzy speed.

“We’ll be out of it in a second,” the literary gent assured us. “I
feared we were venturing rather near the danger point. There four wind
currents meet; anything caught in it is lost. The gale we’re flying
before is merely one of the four. Imagine the extreme north point of the
crescent. It is said that at one time this land extended half across the
ocean; but these four gales blowing constantly for ages have gradually
blown the Belt to its present small dimensions. Possibly in a few
centuries more the Belt will vanish and the crescent country become one
of the great legends of Centauri.”

The ladies laughed incredulously, but the men pretended to take the
speaker seriously.

“You speak with prophetic wisdom,” said the tragedian. “An interpreter
of tragedies can be blunt, and his words always taken in jest. The Vespa
Belt will never be swallowed by the Four Winds, but in less than ten
years she will be submerged by Centauri. For perfect civilization,
progression, harmony, there must be unity. I do not jest, but a
tragedian is always a jester.”

He was vigorously applauded and encouraged to continue, but, bowing,
modestly refrained commenting further upon the subject and suggested we
go above, as the wind had calmed. We trooped up on deck and were greeted
by a hot, blazing sun, a deep blue sky, and a fierce ocean with
mountainous waves boiling white beneath us. Far in the distance were the
snow mountains and white cliffs of the Vespa Belt, which in the clear
sunlight showed up a perfect crescent.

“We have entered another zone,” the writing gent informed us. “We have
emerged from the wind regions, and—er—ahem!——.”

He ended abruptly; no one was listening to him. All looked in one
direction, and, as I looked the blood rushed to my head. Alpha Centauri
stepped from her cabin, radiantly beautiful, garbed in white.

In an instant I was beside her. With passionate ardor I pressed her hand
to my lips. Her face flushed delicately, pallor, dejection had vanished;
her eyes gleamed and burned, she was the personification of joy.

“In a few days we will be in Centur—think what that means to me,
Virgillius,” she murmured.

“You are positive then?”

“As though I were already there,” she replied. “He waits me. Centur ends
all disappointments. I will talk with you later, this is a day of
worship. I am the Priestess of the Sun.”

Rising to her full height majestically she walked down the deck with
upstretched arms waving toward the Sun. High, clear, rang out her
clarion voice in the call to worship, and people flocked from all parts
of the ship, circled around her, and kneeled.

With swaying form she chanted in low, weird tones. The glorious eyes did
not blink before the dazzling rays that enveloped her. She twisted,
undulated, as though to have the streaming fiery light bathe every
portion of her body; then suddenly, as in ecstasy, out came the cry of
devotion, high, clear, sweet. At that moment the Sun’s rays slanted, and
in the golden shadow the glorious Priestess stood silent, rapt; then her
arms fell to her sides and devotions ended.

All rose and went about their various duties. Alpha turned to me with a
smile as placid as a child’s.

“Always the Priestess of the Sun,” she murmured. “I love, Sol, how I
love! this new worship absorbs my whole life, but—always the Priestess
of the Sun, Virgillius.”

I led her to the other side of the ship, away from the others.

“Virgillius,” she murmured, “do not think me childish because I sought
seclusion while sailing over the Belt. I did not think of the Vespas,
but could conceal my unhappiness no longer. Solitude has no prying,
curious eyes; I was alone, gloomy, morose, despairingly worshipping a
fancy, and believe as you wish, Virgillius, I know not if I dreamed or
was awake, but for the instant the veil of obscurity lifted and I saw
the future. Scenes like great paintings were revealed, then slowly slid
from view; only two was I permitted to gaze upon with memory. I saw the
palace at Centur sparkling in the vivid light of noon. Wandering
disconsolately through the halls was a form swathed in twilight. I tried
to peer through the flickering dusk and listened to my name repeatedly
called, frequently imploringly, always with passion. Like a magnet I was
drawn within the mystic gloam; I tried to touch, to speak with the
shadow, then like a flash the scene shifted and I floated over the Ocsta
Mountains. Standing upon the cliffs, gazing with grave anxiety into the
waters of the Otega, was your friend, the great Sheldon. Suddenly he
raised his face, white, wild with terror and shouting, he leaped with
great bounds from cliff to cliff. His cries brought the men from the
caves and I saw my father among them, calm, magnificent, giving
directions, commanding order. I heard an awful rumbling noise, the
mountains swayed as trees in the wind, the sky became suffused, lurid,
the air suffocating. There was a terrific explosion, a huge funnel of
fire rose, meeting the heavens, and monstrous columns of yellow, red,
black smoke swallowed all nature. I shrieked in horror and obscurity
clouded the frightful scene. Once more the future was a blank, dark,
illusive. Virgillius, I did not sleep or dream; Centauri, Sheldon and
all with them are in peril. I shall save them. Speed has been doubled,
the ship travels swifter than the wind, and we will reach the mountains
toward evening of the day after to-morrow. It is the fastest time ever
made over the Great Ocean, and the Ocstas is the first land sighted,
then—Centur. Come, Virgillius, this will never do, we must join the
others. Artoisti will teach you the game he is eternally playing with
Dreaisti.”

Artoisti was the literary gent, and he of Dreaisti the dramatist. I
argued against both gentlemen and the game, and feelingly pleaded to
remain with her the afternoon. She laughingly refused to listen to me
and made sport of my earnestness. We joined the others.

Artoisti called me to the table where he was playing with Dreaisti. I
watched the game some time, but was soon convinced that in a hundred
years I couldn’t master it. It was tedious, complicated, and played with
oblong ivory chips the size of a match ornamented with fine threads of
color. The game seemed a mixture of chess, checkers and hop-scotch,
played upon a board similar to the chart of the heavens. The splintery
chips were twirled in the air and fell upon the chart in squares,
triangles, circles. Where the tricks, points, came in I have still to
discover. The gentlemen invited me to take a “flip” in the game, but I
hastily retreated, amid shouts of derision.

We were warned from the deck as the ship suddenly lowered and zigzagged
at terrific speed. The great wings fluttered heavily, and frequently the
ship crested the turbulent waves like a monster sea-gull.

We had reached the danger zone. Safety lay in hugging the water to avoid
the fierce wind currents crashing above, but we soon outdistanced danger
and gradually floated upward high and higher; by noon we coursed in our
accustomed sphere, but speeded on with a hurricane following swiftly.
From the little signal house Alpha and I watched the storm gathering and
strengthening.

“We speed ahead,” she murmured; “but if caught—devotions to Sol, all is
over.”

I pressed her close to me; at that moment death with her seemed rapture,
then she was mine forever. But I shall never forget that frightful
night. The din, uproar of thunderous cannonading as great black, red,
lightning-pierced clouds met the ocean was terrifying; the ship creaked
and groaned threateningly in her wild flight before the hurricane.

With ill-concealed alarm I sat up all night, but the others retired as
usual. The Centaurian equipoise will remain forever an enigma.

Dawn ended our peril. We still traveled before a gale, but had outsailed
the tempest. Above was a clear, blue sky, and the soft radiance of the
rising sun enveloped the ship. Toward noon we reached the dead calm
ocean tropics, the heat flamed upon oily, slothful waters, but we sailed
with the swiftness of a bird, and far in the distance a heliotrope ridge
met our vision.

“The Ocstas!” cried Alpha, delighted. “We shall reach them in the early
evening.”

And all day she watched till the violet line became a positive purple,
gradually deepening into peak and curve with soft velvety slopes, yet as
we neared the mountains I noticed, with astonishment, that they reached
the water’s edge without beach, perpendicular cliffs with smooth,
shining surface, barren, upright, a gigantic wall that huge ocean waves
dashed against in high bounding sprays.

It was rosy twilight when we sailed over these uncanny mountains so
sharply divided by cold, barren cliffs on one side and deep forests,
rich valleys on the other.

Anxiously Alpha gazed downward and called my attention to the ominous
rumbling, which I supposed was the roar of the ocean.

“I fear we are too late,” she murmured. “It seems we will never reach
the place where the great Sheldon and Centauri are imperiling their
lives tampering with the volcanic Otega.”

In vain I tried to calm her. Words made her desperate, and as the
detonations increased she clasped her hands tightly in agony. The air
grew dense, sultry, vibrating with electricity. All scented danger,
calamity and clustered together in alarmed little groups, murmuring:
“The Otega; the Otega.”

The ship slackened speed as we sighted the Otega, and her great wings
fluttered as though about to lower. Upon earth all was agitation, the
ocean boiled furiously, at high tide crashing over the steep cliff wall
and flooding the land; people, panic-strickened, scurried in all
directions. Then Centauri appeared. We knew him by his long white beard.
The little crowd gathered about him, but suddenly, all with one accord,
rushed to the side of the mountain, where, in a hollow, their ship
rested. We could see them scrambling over the side of the vessel,
working, tugging with desperation to loosen her. We lowered a little to
give assistance, but the ship bounded free, the great bat wings
vigorously unfurled; then shouts of distress coming from land startled
us and we saw a man running, mad with terror. He reached the ship,
grasping the side just as she lurched upward, jerking his body out with
the shock, then banging it back with terrific force. I turned sick,
covering my eyes—the man was Sheldon. My blood curdled as I thought of
his awful death, expecting, of course, that he’d fallen to earth and was
dashed to pieces, but Alpha whispered he was safe, that he’d clung to
the vessel as he had to his theory and Centauri had dragged him from his
awful position. I could see him lying on the deck. The two vessels
sailed close and established communication. Alpha talked with her
father, and I learned the great Otega would soon be in eruption after a
quiet of six centuries. We lingered to view the phenomenon.

“I am glad the matter is settled for all time,” murmured Alpha.
“Certainly the great Sheldon’s visit to Centauri has been of some
benefit, his laughable theories have obtained positive results and
settled forever a grave doubt to the satisfaction of every one.”

She laughed as I suggested that Sheldon, to a certain extent, had been
deceived.

“He deceived himself,” she replied. “No one disputed his positive
assertions, and consequently he believed all agreed with him, but every
one went up to the Ocstas bent upon private investigations. Your friend
was intent upon discovering the source of that body of water and
delegates from four geographical-geological societies accompanied him
solely to determine whether the volcano was extinct or not—all have been
successful. Isn’t it strange, Virgillius,” she continued, “that water
was so fresh, wholesome, beneficial to the system, yet fish could not
live in it. We tried, and——”

A warning shout came from Centauri’s ship. Ours shot upward like a
rocket and slanted across the sky, swift as an arrow.

A terrific explosion took place, thunder rolled from the heavens, while
earth responded with tremendous detonations. The incessant roaring,
sizzling noise was frightful—the majestic fury of the Otega had awakened
from its long trance. Sulphurous flames played about the volcano, giving
it a terrible, weird appearance, steam rose in monstrous clouds, and
waves of liquid fire boiled and dashed against the cliffs overflowing
the huge caldron in broad streams of molten mass deluging the earth with
devastation. Ashes, rock, lava shot skyward in monster geysers of
incandescent matter that gave forth prismatic lights and in stinging,
serpent-like coils writhed to the sea.

Voluminous waves hedged in the Ocstas, and their steady blaze cast a
deep crimson, purple glare over the heavens that must have reached to
Centur. We were ten miles away, our ship had a heavy coating of cinders
and the sickening odor of sulphur suffocated. A scorching smoke devoured
the air and hung like a pall over all nature, obscuring everything
except the splendid, diabolical phenomenon, belching flame and lightning
forking from the gigantic crested columns that shot upward hundreds of
feet. It was a fearsome, stupendous spectacle.

Time seemed infinite, so absorbed had I been watching the magnificent
Otega, that from a light touch I started as from a dream, mumbling
gruffly.

“Awake, Virgillius, you are fascinated by the splendid Otega.”

A sudden dazzling flash illuminated the ship and I saw her. She laughed
teasingly as I caught her hand and pressed it against my face.

“We are going to Centur,” she told me. “All lights have been
extinguished. Thousands are on their way to view the volcano. Should it
become known that I have returned the loyal people will forego that
marvelous sight and accompany us back to Centur. The lava streams are
rushing down the other side of the mountain into the sea. The flow will
continue many days and there will be intermittent eruptions for months,
then the Otega will be dormant, probably forever.”

“Much damage done?”

“Some,” she answered, “to the Potolilis. The Ocstas is the property of
the Potolilis. They know the Otega and avoid it. There is much timber
lost, but the Potolilis are a tribe of vast wealth. Centauri has ordered
his ship brilliantly illuminated, so all may know he has not perished.”

Our ship had ceased its aimless floating and slanted straight for
Centur. Far in the distance, speeding toward the Ocstas, were thousands
of red globe lights traveling thickly together, resembling the Milky Way
suddenly lowered to our sphere. We darted in a westerly direction
avoiding the flying multitude, which gradually sailed past like a great
stream of meteors, traveling in groups or long straggling lines, and all
heavily laden with sightseers. One huge vessel, sailing apart from the
others, edged us closely. She was gayly illuminated and decorated with
the colors of Centauri. We did not clear her in time, and she spied our
dark hulk and saluted. We flashed farther into the darkness, but the
sound of gay music, wild singing, shouts and shrill laughter of the men
and women aboard followed us.

“A private vessel, party of pleasure-loving young people out for a
lark,” I suggested.

Alpha watched the vessel till it appeared but a pale stream of light
against the sky.

“Possibly a wedding party,” she replied. “But the ship floated the
colors, which signals some great personage aboard. Banners are hoisted
only upon national fête days. This ship carried the flag of Centauri.
Odd this particular ship should stray aside just as we pass to nearly
collide with us.”

She gazed perplexedly into the darkness and silently, thoughtfully,
studied the starry horizon, then with a murmured “Good-night” and gentle
hand-clasp she left me.

Suddenly our ship blazed with lights and the Centauri banners were
hoisted. We cut sharply across the heavens separating entirely from the
speeding sightseers, our lights only distinguishable. No one dreamed
Alpha Centauri was returning to Centur.

“It is three hours on the new day, why do you not retire?” a deep voice
rumbled close to my ear.

With a start I turned and confronted the Literary Man.

“Why don’t you seek rest yourself?” I snapped.

“I have rested too long. I am far in arrears with my work, but have put
everything aside to complete an Ode upon the joyful emotions Alpha
Centauri is supposed to entertain when beholding Centur once again.”

His eyes twinkled and he chuckled without smiling.

“You are humorous,” I told him. “Do you doubt the joyful emotions?”

“I never answer questions,” he replied. “They always lead to argument
and time is too limited for that. An argument should last at least a
month, both sides talking all the time. How very young, inexperienced,
you must be, Virgillius; you still have to discover that women have no
emotions. The Centaurians are all humorists, tragedy is an obliterated
evil; and, Virgillius, we reach Centur at sunrise. I must go and finish
my Ode to Joy. We will meet again.”

He hurried away, chuckling, glancing over his shoulder to smile
good-humoredly at me. Alone, a sudden depression came upon me. I was
living in a nerve-racking atmosphere of doubt and anxiety. Dejectedly I
entered my cabin to wait in gloomy misery for day, but deadly wearied,
unknowingly I sank into deep slumber, which lasted till heavy movements
about the ship roused me. I hurried on deck, the morning was flushed
with the rising sun, we sailed over a deep blue bay, and just ahead
glistened the crystal city of Centur. Everybody was on deck to view the
magnificent scene, but exchanged amused glances and smiled openly at my
tardiness, while Alpha, radiant, buoyant with hope, greeted me with
laughter and jest. Repose had not banished despondency; I chilled with
dread and black forebodings. In all the travels, when constantly fearing
the possible materializing of the “adored,” I never experienced the
positive hopelessness that now warned me of sure and bitter, bitter
disappointment. Alpha Centauri would treasure the ideal forever. I was
miserable, cruelly fated to worship a phantom which was fading from my
life. I knew it. In an agony of wretchedness caught her hand, holding it
tight, and she—God!—laughed in her mirthful mood, taunting my gloomy
countenance. The others joined in her sport, gayly encouraging me and
quipped my depression; yet smile I could not. The dramatist declared
would make tragedy popular again, and the literary genius told me he
would never regret our meeting, as I had colored the closing chapter of
his forthcoming romance, which finale would crown him with immortality.

“You shall jest no longer at my Virgillius!” cried Alpha, leading me
away, though laughing merrily.

It matters not what passed between us, she spoke seriously, and of the
future.

“I am glad to return,” she murmured; “do not begrudge me the scant
joy of expectancy. It is only on the surface. In my heart I
fear—ah!—I cannot, I cannot envelop you with the sweet foolishness
lavished upon the impossible, but you taught me to love—I belong to
you—and—er—Virgillius, we may both be happy yet.”

God! I gasped, scarcely believing what I heard. My senses tingled, I
seemed to choke. She gazed at me with wide open, tender eyes, and
passionately I pressed her hand to my lips. She flushed at my ardor and
turned aside. In mad adoration I caught her in my arms and crushed her
to me. I cared not if the whole world spied upon us. I kissed my
glorious Alpha upon the lips, eyes and sweetly flushed cheeks.

Snickering, smothered guffaws roused my drugged senses; protesting
vigorously, yet good-naturedly, against my ardent caresses, Alpha freed
herself, calling me a “wild boy, but lovable.”

“And look,” she cried, running to the ship’s side; “look, Virgillius, we
have reached Centur.”



                              CHAPTER XIX.


The ship gradually lowered as we floated over the city. The news flashed
over Centur that the Priestess of the Sun had returned and excited
crowds blackened the streets shouting a welcome.

Alpha leaned far over the ship’s side, waving the flag of Centauri in
response. Centur was in gay attire, gaudy flags and pennants floated
from the domes of all buildings. Gorgeous silken banners coiled around
the arms of Centauri and gently fluttered against huge arches and towers
of rare blossoms whose rich fragrance absorbed the air. Something
wonderful was certainly going on. Alpha turned to us bewildered.

“What is it?” she queried. “Our return was unheralded—it is not a fête
day. How beautiful Centur looks!”

She shrugged her shoulders and again smiled down upon the welcoming
people. The ship finally reached the palace park, then fluttered and
circled downward and gently settled in its steel shed.

The crowd surged against the walls with deafening shouts of greeting.
Alpha waved her arms, and her clarion voice rose high in the worshipful
cry of Sol. Like an avalanche the response fell upon her, betraying the
joy these people felt at seeing her again. How they loved this beautiful
woman! And now, as I think of it, I believe it was she, glorious Alpha,
whom they worshipped—not the Sun.

With sweet dignity she received the officials who hurried to meet her.
Besangno, the great statesman who acted as chief executive during
Centauri’s absence, saluted deeply and welcomed her in eloquent phrases.
She was told that official notice had been received that her travels
were about terminating, but that her sudden return was a joyous surprise
to the people of Centur.

“If my return is so unexpected what fête day is Centur celebrating?” she
inquired.

“Centur wears gala attire in honor of our distinguished guest who has
delighted the populace with his presence nearly a fortnight,” Besangno
informed her. “Benlial, of the Vespa Belt, waits the superb Alpha
Centauri.”

I was standing beside her, but instinctively drew away, repelled by her
sudden icy demeanor. Once more I beheld the strange, enigmatical
goddess, who had welcomed me upon my arrival to the city: Alpha
Centauri, Priestess of the Sun, always.

Erect, to her full height, with cold, calm, haughty eyes, she regarded
the gentleman before her. She raised her arm and placed it across her
breast, and with stiff formality bowed.

“Greetings to the Vespa Prince,” she said; “his return to his people
shall not be delayed. I will receive Prince Benlial at once.”

Besangno was not at all dismayed by her manner, she had always been
gracious to him, but this was Alpha of the Centauris, Priestess of their
deity; a perfect woman, passionless—a saint. The glowing, palpitating
creature I created was not for public adoration—she was mine, mine
always!

Besangno explained that the Prince was absent, gone to view the
magnificent Otega, “but will speed back to Centur when informed that the
Priestess of the Sun has returned.”

“A ship passed us in the night,” she told him, “gay with the nation’s
color, and freighted to the brim with merriment. Besangno, the morning
is still early; before noon you will hear my order. Prince Benlial must
not be disturbed in his pleasures.”

Besangno bowed low. None dared approach her, and silently she
disappeared within the palace whose portals were draped with the gaudy
silken banners of the Vespas. I did not see her again till the evening.
Besangno and his suite remained in respectful attitudes till she passed
from view, then abruptly hurried away, and I was left with the little
troupe of traveling companions who were palpably impatient to depart. A
low whistle near me, and I turned and faced the Literary Man, who
grasped my hand, telling me he could never repay the debt of inspiration
I had roused within him.

“Your companionship lures success,” he barked.

I smiled acknowledgment, but the Tragedian relieved me from replying. He
clung to my other hand and begged me to remain forever among them.
“Never in my life,” he assured me, “have I experienced the exquisite
diversion enjoyed in your company. Your skill as a tragedian is genius,
your interpretations famous. Ah, Virgillius, your amazing capabilities
will force the public to comprehend the great tragedies that no
Centaurian can act. The powerful masterpieces of morbid imaginations
shall cease to be farces.”

I listened attentively, not certain if they were making sport or meant
it, but both seemed ridiculous and I laughed. The laugh was taken up
heartily and both gentlemen simultaneously dropped my hands, each
declaring gravely I was deep, deep as the fire geyser in the ice summit.
Then one, throwing out his chest, cried: “Attention, friends! Will
sensations ever cease? or is it the commencement of the end when the
world will explode into millions of particles as Thoralda the Great
predicts. Listen: first, Virgillius and his friends drop among us from,
no one knows where, to overpower us with their marvelous experiences.
Then the Otega becomes active after six centuries of repose. And now
comes this splendid savage, the Prince of Vespas, ruler of the land of
hornets, whose swift progression dares them to defy even Sol. We are far
in the rear of these wonderful people, they would elevate us by sending
the most audacious hornet of them all—for what? To mate with the rarest
and most perfect of Centaurians, Alpha, Priestess of the Sun, who can
never mate. Jingle the cap and bells, friends, hail to the splendid,
glorious Prince Benlial.”

They applauded him noisily, and I tried to crush the sudden sick
miserable feeling that came over me. They finally left me, even the
crowd outside had dispersed, and I was left alone deep in gloom and
hopelessness, assailed with a cowardly faintness of heart that made me
at last realize why I had been a failure all my life.

I knew well the import of the Prince’s visit, but it seemed preposterous
this savage was to end my dream—he was only a man far from ideal.

Bah! absurd! I flung out my arms as though brushing my trouble from me.
“Alpha Centauri, my own creation, mine forever,” I cried.

Discreet footsteps, an apologetic cough sounded near, and I turned to
face Mike, the ever-smiling Mike. He handed me a note and I read that
Alpha Centauri had many important matters to attend to and could not see
me till evening. She wished me to rest so my mind would be clear,
refreshed, and able to give undivided attention to the many affairs she
would consult with me. Mike bowed deeply and followed as I hurried to my
apartments. He regaled me with the palace gossip.

I learned that Saunders had suddenly ended his connection with the
Observatory and, with a party of scientists, had traveled throughout
Centauri, returning only last evening, when he and the “great inventor”
departed immediately for the Ocstas, both wildly anxious about their
friend Sheldon, who they feared had perished. Saxlehner had completed
his marvelous machine, and he (Mike) presumed “all three” would again
become guests at the palace. Then he told me of Prince Benlial, a
magnificent specimen of manhood, who had enthralled the hearts of the
people, and was enthusiastically cheered whenever he appeared upon the
streets.

“He is searching for his affinity—ahem!” said Mike, “and has already
traveled over half the world. He boldly declares he has come to court
our beauteous Alpha, and vows the Priestess of the Sun shall be his
bride. His bravery and frankness charmed all, even conquering Centauri,
who placed the palace at the disposal of the handsome boy; but all pity
him. It is really sad to think of the meeting between him and the
wondrous Alpha, who, though the most perfect of women, can be infernally
cruel. The Prince will depart in anger, and the unification of the white
race will be delayed several centuries, though much desired both by the
people and Centauri, else the Prince’s reception would have been
different and his stay among us brief. Like the savages, he adores all
women and would throw the whole world in an uproar to obtain the one he
desired. What an incomprehensible weakness! However, he is enjoying
himself immensely among the gay youngsters of the city, and—luck to him!
Luck to the pretty boy!”

Mike irritated me and I dismissed him; then wondering what I should do
till evening began scribbling notes to Alpha, begging to be received. I
was desperate; positive I must see her at once. She replied verbally:
“Much important business to transact; please excuse,” etc——.

I gave it up. Why trouble her? She did not care and could not
understand. Selfish, cold-hearted, God! how cruel this beautiful woman
could be. She was one of those imperfect creatures who never love, their
whole nature dominated by Self, fitfully passionate, as unreliable as
life—yet was she my own creation, mine!

I found myself pitying the Vespa Prince; after all he was only a man
like myself, and I suffered; yes, I suffered.

I sauntered aimlessly through the gardens, then wandered around the
city, loitering in the streets and parks watching children at play, and
finally sought rest in the Salon, burdened with art treasures. I looked
again upon the tranquil beauty of Abella, wife of the gifted fisherman.
The face was so calm, placid, vacant, one wondered why humanity worried
over trivial nothings. Life is brief, and we cram so much unhappiness
into it. Why strive for what we can never accomplish? Why strive at all?
Be content, accept destiny, no effort can alter it; crawl and crawl as
does the worm: we are but another species.

Life is a mysterious, enchanting dream, the awakening—dissolution. There
are very few souls among the millions inhabiting this sphere that have
mastered the knowledge of living, the majority merely exist. Every man,
woman and child should be drilled through the intricacies of nature,
make them thorough in this powerful art—the art of living—then call
their attention to the tedious verbs.

I smiled up into the beautiful, soulless eyes of Abella, tranquil,
sublime beauty—you have calmed tumultuous thoughts. Adieu, sweet Abella,
how your husband has marred your fairness. I blew a kiss to the delicate
painting as I hurried away.

The long, slanting rays of the afternoon sun lengthened into dusk, and
as I reached the palace the city flamed with lights. The stately quiet
of the Centauri dwelling had vanished, all was activity, bustle. The
doors of the throne room and vast salons were flung wide, decorators
were at work. At the far end of the lofty vestibule, dimly seen amid
crystal columns, was the banquet hall with long, massive tables ladened
with shimmering satin and glistening plate of gold and silver. Some
great event was to take place and I hurried to my rooms to find Saxe.,
Sheldon and Saunders eagerly awaiting me.

We were powerfully glad to see each other. Though all were anxious to
relate their experiences and adventures since last meeting, Sheldon was
given the floor, owing to his late narrow escape through too much Otega.
In excitable tones he described the progression of his work before the
eruption ruined all.

“Boys,” he cried, “I was right about the whole matter and the scientific
societies of the world be hanged! I discovered the source of that great
body of fresh water—the Arctic ocean. It does not supply the earth as I
originally contended, but it creates, feeds all streams, rivers, lakes
for thousands of miles in that vicinity.

“The Centaurians have wonderful mining apparatuses. We mined those
mountains for miles, tracing the flow of that water through the vast
arteries of the earth. Springs were numerous, the water bubbling in tiny
geysers, clear and sparkling. I proved my assertions and convinced the
greatest man of this part of the world, Centauri himself. During his
stay in the mountains I learned the secret of his greatness. Simple,
unassuming, yet his wisdom is of such superiority and profundity he
cannot impart it to others; sublime in his generosity and knowledge he
listens to all. I never believed I could feel such reverence for any
human being. He impresses every one the same way, hence, his greatness.
As for the delegates of the two societies who accompanied me up the
mountains I was perfectly aware what they stationed themselves there
for; to settle their dispute, whether the volcano was extinct or not;
and I’m damned glad they found out!

“Talk about the calmness and haughtiness of these people! Those men
squabbled from morning till night and seriously hindered my work. They
were constantly wiring statements to their different headquarters, and
once the entire crew of both societies swooped down upon us, consuming
several days in mass-meetings and idleness.

“Centauri told me the Otega was dormant, having found an outlet in some
other portion of the globe, but the solid mass collected here and was a
depot for further eruptions. He agrees with me that this body of fresh
water is not the aftermath of the famous eruption of six centuries ago,
the crater became the bed for one of the greatest freaks of nature, a
gigantic artery burst, forming the oceanlet, which is simply a
continuation of the Arctic.

“And, friends,” ended Sheldon with a twinkle, “all who accompanied me
came away with energy and fully satisfied.”

He waved his hand toward Saunders, who grudgingly complimented him upon
his successful discovery, but suggested that neither he nor Sheldon
could become bombastic over their success, both were on a par.

“But,” smiling around, “I toured Centauri and journeyed half way to the
moon—ahem! Through miscalculation my work at the Observatory was only
partially successful. I manufactured a set of lenses three degrees more
powerful than those in use; my intention was to extend the power five
degrees. The people over here are thorough in everything they undertake,
but slow; for fifty years the astronomers have been planning a trip to
the moon and arrangements were just completed when I arrived and was
complimented with an invitation to join the expedition.

“The Centaurians are very progressive; they attempt to attain the
impossible. We started upon our wonderful trip in an especially
constructed flying machine loaded with instructions what we were to do
when we got there, and the signals we were to send to the gaping boys
down here. We traveled very rapidly, attaining a height never reached by
balloon. We suffered, of course, hemorrhage attacked us in its most
malignant forms, but we paid no heed to this weakness, believing in the
scientific assurances that as we became accustomed to the rarified,
ever-changing altitude, such annoyances would cease—and they did.

“In the meantime the higher we pierced this atmosphere the farther away
the moon seemed, and our own globe had become a huge, glowing ball,
throwing out a powerful radius of rosy light, tinting space a deep pink
to seemingly unfathomable spheres. We had sailed far and above this
roseate radiance when panic seized us, all had one unuttered thought, an
intense desire to return to earth, but enough of the world remained in
us to secrete cowardice. I, for one, lost courage entirely with the
eccentric movements of the ship which suddenly zigzagged oddly, giving
great bounds upward, then fell back a space and shot slantways across
the sky; but for all of her queer antics she continually gained in
height, and height apparently was all we concerned ourselves about.

“However, gradually everything ceased to interest us, a peculiar
indifference embraced all, a deadly lassitude. We lolled around seeking
rest, peace, to dream forever in blessed forgetfulness of existence, to
sail always in the cool, blue depths of eternity. How long I remained in
that strange tranquillity I shall never know, but suddenly shrieked with
the terrible pain in my heart, a thousand tons seemed pressing upon my
brain and vivid streaks of lightning pierced my sight. I was blinded,
but danger roused me and I staggered, groping my way to the engine room.
A heavy, inert form barred the passage, but I stumbled over it to the
gigantic clock whose hands guided the ship.”

An ominous roaring sound warned me of grave disaster; if we continued to
travel upward the ship would explode. Ignorant how to regulate the
ship’s speed, I moved the upper hand of the clock downward, and down we
shot like a rock, then I stared at the great hands hesitating what to do
next when some one pushed me aside. A man, haggard, bleeding profusely
from the mouth, deftly moved the hands of the clock and the ship
slackened its crushing, downward course.

“Blessings upon your vitality,” he whispered; “otherwise we would all be
dead. We realize the nectar of existence when we feel it oozing from us.
Life! Sol, give me life. Science! bah! nonsense!”

“We revived as we approached our natural sphere, but it was an
experience I shall never forget, and it cost the lives of two men, A
noted professor and the engineer who died like a hero—much good it did
him. He gave his life for science, believing himself the only one who
succumbed. We took the professor and engineer to their homes, then
toured Centauri, which consisted in dropping each member of the
expedition to their city. When we dwindled to three, Centur was reached,
and—er—here I am.”

Our congratulations seemed to make Saunders uneasy.

“You forget,” he interrupted, “our trip to the moon was a failure, a
second excursion will not be attempted for several centuries. Eventually
they will succeed. Our journey to the moon has been suppressed. When we
return to our own hemisphere I shall be sadly regretted by the
scientists here, for all their marvelous advancement. I imparted much
information and predicted this, their latest failure. Ahem! I haven’t
done bad, not bad at all; but not for a thousand lives would I journey
to the moon again.”

“Why didn’t you visit the Vespa Belt instead?”

Saunders sniffed. “There was no choice offered,” he replied; “but
certainly I would have preferred the moon. The Vespa folks are way-back
savages, I understand, and a broad expanse of wigwam does not inspire
me.”

He eyed me sharply when I told him he was wrong, all wrong; that the
Belt was the most wonderful portion of this part of the globe. Then I
described the art and originality of the people and the peculiarly
beautiful mosaic palace of King Benlial. Saunders sniffed. He wasn’t
interested in the Vespas, and turned quickly to Saxe., who remarked that
he was mighty glad we were all together again anyhow, because for some
time, having no occupation, he’d been ripe for any mischief.

“The _Propellier_ was completed weeks ago, and I’ve examined the machine
they’re going to present to us. It’s a wonderful structure of crystal
and steel, and covers a hundred and fifty miles an hour. The coaches
attached are fitted up luxuriously. Our return trip will not be so
hazardous and decidedly more comfortable; and we all have the supreme
satisfaction of having discovered what we searched for.

“We found the Pole, and can prove of the wonderful cities beyond. I have
mastered the marvelous secret of gold and diamonds, and now have the
power to do my share in the vast endeavor to stamp out the evil passion
that causes so much unhappiness—Greed. Sheldon discovered his great body
of fresh water, and has some excellent photographs stored away that will
make him famous. His homecoming will be glorious, he’ll be given an
ovation because he risked his life for science. He can prove the
positive existence of the freak ocean. He will experience the rare and
pleasurable sensation of ridiculing those who formerly ridiculed him,
and that’s going some.”

Sheldon spruced up, Saxe.’s approval was exhilarating.

“And Saunders succeeded also,” continued Saxe., “he discovered the
famous pink star that all astronomers know of but failed to locate. He
has some remarkable photographs and has written up a treatise on why the
star is not visible from our point of view, and constructed a new map of
the heavens. He’ll return to his continent magnificently equipped with
all the modern astronomical contrivances the Centaurians can supply him
with, and can lecture at length of how he went the Centaurians better
concerning powerful lens—whatever they are.

“During his homeward journey he will occupy the time writing a book of
his trip to the moon. Really, I think we’ve all done first rate;
couldn’t have done better. We accomplished what we set out to do. But,
there’s Virgillius,” he looked over at me and shook his head
reprovingly, “he’s simply our millionaire Salucci, the same as formerly.
He’s gained knowledge, of course, but he won’t air it to the world. Yet,
come to think of it, he’s been about as successful as any of us. He came
in search of a woman—and found her.”

He smiled encouragingly at me and opined that mine was a mission more
difficult than any.

“His was a fancy, mythical, intangible,” said Saxe. “A tantalizing
dream, a hallucination, and the realization more marvelous than the
imagination. Virgillius should be happy; he is the first man in creation
that ever realized the ideal and made it his own. He has succeeded where
all men fail.”

I sprang joyously to my feet, his words invigorated faint hope; but he
hurried to me and anxiously grasped my shoulder.

“You return with us, Virgillius,” he said: “we cannot; nay, we dare not
leave you with these strange people.”

“You make me mad with joy!” I cried. “I love! ah, how I love! but
hopelessly, hopelessly.”

All smiled.

“Poor actor,” laughed Saxe.; “pretense too thin—sounds sweet and you
want more. Hopeless? Fiddlesticks! you’ve won. Men always know when
they’re ahead. You’re picked for the mate of the superb Alpha. (Sheldon
and Saunders have bet ten to one on it.) She’s been declared false to
her vows, and is no longer Priestess of the Sun. Gossips whisper of your
strange influence upon the fair Centaurian; your absence creates
restlessness, distraction, and she seeks every opportunity to study you
intently, absorbingly. Bah! just an ordinary case. You discover a
handsome woman, innocent, with blank mind, which you proceed to fill
with foolish fancies, and, true to her sex, wearying of myths and
shadows, she welcomes stalwart, vigorous flesh and blood. It is nonsense
that will prove a pleasant remembrance; it must not detain you among
these people. Why, Virgillius, we cannot leave you! Heavens, boy! think,
we dare not return without you! She will forget, they all do—by George!
the women over here are more unreliable than those of our world, and——”

I shouted with happiness.

“A thousand worlds could not separate me from Centauri, if what you tell
me is true,” I cried. “I will remain—give up everything—but it is too
much happiness—you exaggerate—to-night I will know. Have you all
forgotten the Vespa Prince?”

A pang quivered through me; my spirits ebbed as I mentioned the name,
but my friends’ laughter renewed courage and vanity—with a swoop doubts
vanished. Thank Heaven! I had won. Alpha Centauri was mine; mine
forever. I laughed joyously.

Sheldon’s sharp eyes twinkled as he twitted me of my love.

“The Vespa Prince!” he jeeringly remarked, “you overdo your little act.
When one is beloved there are no rivals—you know it. The superb Alpha
thinks, dreams of just one man—Virgillius. The Prince is the final act
of a comedy, unnecessary, witless. He cares not a rap for the peerless
Alpha. He was sent here to work as much mischief as possible, then come
home again. The King is a vindictive old cuss, thinks his son
invincible, and the fair Alpha showed scant courtesy to the old boy, and
the Prince is full of ginger. The people here have jollied the young
fellow along because he’s a pretty boy, even old Centauri said he was a
fine specimen. The remarkable change noted in the wondrous Alpha since
your advent has roused universal discussion, and scientists aver she is
gradually degenerating to the level of primeval womanhood. Virgillius,
you seem foolishly timid, this mystical woman has fascinated you. You
forget women have always been your—er—inspiration, and you have yet to
meet defeat. You have loved before and many times as deeply as you do
now; this affair is not more serious than the others. Lay aside passion
for one cold little moment; think, my boy, calmly, soberly; do not be an
ass.

“Powers above! why don’t men cultivate more thought in such emergencies?
At any rate one thing is certain, you return with us. You have to;
friends would think we’d made away with you—we’re all so handsomely
provided for in your will. What a peck of trouble you’re giving us
anyhow!” he snapped, suddenly grown irritable; “you act like a pup!”

“Oh, let him remain and be damned!” bawled Saunders.

I gesticulated impatiently, trying to speak, but Saunders; crabbed,
peppery little Saunders, would hear nothing. His voice squeaked high
with temper.

“Let him remain, I say! Don’t waste time over him. We’re not going yet,
so let him marry this wonderful creature, and I’ll warrant he’ll soon be
in more haste to depart than we.”

“Say, friends, let the boy alone,” laughingly cried Saxe., coming to my
rescue. “Let him enjoy all the happiness possible out of the affair. He
and I will discuss later our departure. Virgillius was always a favorite
of Folly. We’ll talk this matter over again, meantime be merry.”

I laughed happily, not heeding the chorus of caustic remarks hurled at
me from Sheldon and Saunders. Nothing at that moment could dampen my
ardor. I was wild, triumphant, and even attempted repartee, always a
hazardous undertaking with my witty friends. We all became unusually
gay, and Sheldon roared a giddy song, which was fortunately terminated
by the entrance of Mike. He served us with light wines and viands, and
regaled our curiosity concerning the vast preparations going on below.
We learned though the Vespa boy had been in Centur over a fortnight
Alpha Centauri’s greeting would be his first official welcome.

“Old Centauri returned with us last night,” Sheldon told me. “The Prince
was notified the Priestess of the Sun had returned and he wanted to
accompany us back to the city, but was advised to remain and view the
Otega, as possibly the queenly young woman would not give him an
audience for several days. It is believed he will visit the Potolili and
Octrogona camps, both chiefs having, on separate occasions, been guests
of old Benlial; but I think the young fellow will slip the dusky ones in
his anxiety to inspect the female Centauri. I’m positive he’ll reach the
city before midnight. We’re included in the feast, eh, Mike?”

Mike nodded vigorously, and ordered his three assistants to work, then
tackled me; and while the ordeal of rejuvenation was taking place I
despatched a messenger to ascertain when it would be convenient for
Alpha to receive me. Her reply was verbal, brief, and disappointing as
usual. Plans had been changed, the Prince had not been expected to
return to the city for several days, but now would arrive any moment. I
would find her in the reception rooms—would I please hurry to her——. We
hustled and were soon ready to descend.

Mike was disappointed with us; he thought the handsome costume of
Centauri more suitable for the occasion, but we couldn’t see it. He
followed us dismally, we jarred his artistic nerves. Poor fellow!



                              CHAPTER XX.


The brilliant rainbow salon was crowded. Sweet, weird Centauri music
accompanied the hum of voices, and the fragrance of rare, strange
blossoms filled the air. My three comrades mingled with the people, and
I hurried down the long vista of glistening columns and lights to where
Alpha Centauri stood greeting her guests. God! how marvelously beautiful
the woman was! In an instant I was beside her and tremblingly addressed
her. Her great eyes flashed into mine, her smile scattered reason. I
suppose I acted idiotic; it was natural; most men would. She laughed
gently and, taking my arm, told me I was a “dear, foolish boy.” There
was affection in her voice, love in her eyes. The worshipped Ideal was
deserted—she had discovered Man. I was victorious. The circle
surrounding us thinned; people departed with smiling faces leaving us
alone to whisper sweet nonsense. Happy? yes; too happy in a world of our
own.

She was gloriously, ideally beautiful to-night, gorgeously garbed in a
shimmering robe of chameleon tint lavishly studded with gems. Neck,
shoulders, arms were literally concealed beneath flashing orders and
ornaments, while the luxuriant midnight tresses rippled the length of
her form, yet upon her head rested the little gold cap with raised
border of forked gold, emblem of the Sun.

She still considered herself Priestess of the Sun and gloried in that
dull bit of gold on her head, the only woman in the wide world crowned
with the flaming emblem; yet if she wedded she would be forced to
relinquish it, and even now it was whispered she had renounced her
religion—for me. Fate timed, yet threw a glamour of confidence and
security over my fool’s paradise that the end would be more deadly
cruel. Her hand rested lightly in mine.

“To-morrow,” she whispered, “come; I must see you alone, away from
everybody, all to myself. We shall arrange for the future.”

“Alpha,” I murmured, but her attention was attracted from me and I
forgot what I was going to say in the excitement that followed.

Her hand slipped from mine and she moved away, then stood erect in an
attitude of expectancy. From the gardens came the sound of trumpets and
cheers; again and again above the noise and tumult were borne the words:
“Hoo-ray! hoo-ray! long live the Vespa Prince!”

The most intense excitement prevailed; the whole of Centur seemed in an
uproar; those in the salon flocked to the vestibule and balconies,
echoing the shouts from without; and through it all Alpha remained cool,
stately, the only calm, collected being in all that assemblage.

Into the great hall rushed the hubbub, the air filled with crashing,
deafening, joyful music. Laughter and song greeted the great man, and
those collected to welcome him yelled, mad with enthusiasm.

Alpha Centauri’s eyes were riveted upon the main entrance. I stood close
beside her, but was forgotten. A man entered, followed by a group of gay
young sports. But the man! this one commanded the attention of all. Of
gigantic physique he towered above all men, fair as a god, face fresh
and rosy, with close-cropped golden curls.

Way was made for him, the guests forming in two obsequious lines. He
strode forward, his gleaming, sultry eyes hurriedly scanning the faces
of all, then they rested upon the lovely woman at my side. He threw up
his arm and his eyes flashed wide with amazement, then over his face
spread a smile of wild delight, and he halted, marveling at her
loveliness.

A low exclamation made me turn, she was bending forward, hands tightly
clasped, her sweet face white with emotion, and dilated eyes raised,
enthralled by the burning, blue orbs fixed upon her.

“Sol! Sol!” she murmured; “Sol! Sol!”

She pressed her hand over her eyes and brow, and with the action her
senses returned. With drooping eyes and lovely, flushed face, she
advanced to meet this man who was born a conqueror.

He hastened to her and caught both her hands; she murmured something,
and he sank to his knee pressing his lips upon the hard brilliants
hemming her gown. She turned slightly, he sprang to his feet clutching
her lovely bare arm and drew her close. He whispered eagerly,
passionately, and Alpha gazed at him dazed, fascinated—she realized her
ideal, she had met her affinity.

He led her to the forest of strange, tropical plants, whose branches
housed hundreds of drowsy songsters drugged with the sweet, pungent
odors from the voluptuously undulating fountain. These two will wander
in this paradise of love, his arms clasped about her, whispering words
of adoration while she listens intoxicated, wildly, deliriously happy,
in her earthly heaven.

I watched them pass down the moss-covered path till the thick foliage of
strange spices hid them from view—then I realized.

Numbed, chilled, I turned away, every thought swallowed in great
physical pain, a hand of iron clutched my heart and wrung it dry as a
sponge. I had a vague idea of falling, not suddenly, but gradually,
easily; of many people hurrying to me; then Saxe. loomed above, and as
in a dream, came the words: “Courage, courage, my boy; be a man. Help!
help!” he shouted in tones that pierced my brain, then borne to me
vividly, yet as though thousands of miles away: “Heavens! how the woman
deceived us all!” and my last flickering thought before blank was she
had deceived no one, least of all myself.

In the garden, full length upon the lawn, the sweet, cool air revived
me, but not for an instant had I lost consciousness.

My friends were about me, anxious, grave; distinctly I heard Saxe.
mutter: “We must get out of this and quick. Can’t have the boy carrying
on this way.”

I remained silent, rather comfortable than otherwise, dreamily wondering
what the row was about; then, like a flash, I knew and a dull, heavy,
sickening feeling gripped my whole mind. To escape the hell’s torment of
memory I would have given life. Oblivion? yes; if I could never have
realized. Now, God! All the little tantalizing delights, the sweet
doubts vanishing in happy possession I was so sure of—all was over. Who
could have foreseen such an end? The very peculiarities of this woman
forbade such a finale. Instead, all would have expected this stately,
high-souled, devout creature to renounce mankind, remaining true to her
deity, secluded, to bask forever in the warm rays of the fiery god she
worshipped. Oh, if I could have remembered her always as the Priestess
of the Sun! To have renounced the wonderful, mystical being I
discovered! I mourned for the beautiful ideal shattered by the woman,
though fashioned by a master’s hand the delicate veneer revealed the
commonplace at the first test—the idealist’s mist blinds all eyes. And
she had done as the whole world of women have ever done—surrendered at
the first flash of a pair of handsome eyes and sensitive red lips.

Ah, Alpha! Alpha Centauri!

I mourn for the romance, bah! I have no passion for the woman. I rolled
in the cool, green moisture, moaning aloud my misery. Some one attempted
sympathy. I sprang up, pushing him aside.

“None of that,” I told them, roughly, “Saunders’s prophecy has come
true. I am anxious for departure, the sooner now the better.”

I left them. How could they console me for the beautiful astral thing
that had passed out of my soul. I was fond of them; yes, but—what a
deadly disgust I felt for all things.

Sheldon followed me and drew my arm within his. He said nothing, but I
understood his deep sympathy, far different from that usually extended
by those who cruelly select the most inopportune moment for reminder,
and all through distaste to witness suffering embarrassingly mouth
stupid, meaningless warnings. My unhappiness caused Sheldon sincere
pain. I held out for a second, haughty in my misery, then my head
dropped to his shoulder as a choking sob escaped me.

He led me far away from the brilliant palace, blazing lights, and gay
music, away from the maddening sound of laughter, far, far to the
outskirts of the city; and Sheldon talked, talked, talked; evenly,
monotonously, and vaguely I understood that in a marvelous cool and
dispassionate manner he was telling me the romance of his life—all men
have one and live. My own grief was too vividly fresh for me to follow
him entirely, but Sheldon’s sorrow was caused by the knowledge that the
woman he adored had never been happy. His romance was ordinary and
occurred when he was very young or it wouldn’t have happened.

They had been separated by lack of funds and a scheming mother, and both
learned all about it when it was too late. She had made a very good wife
for the wrong man, and had been in her grave these twenty years. And
with a deep sigh poor old Sheldon handed me an old-fashioned locket, and
I gazed upon a girl with a round, fresh face, saucer eyes and ringlets.
He loved as I, not the woman but the ideal, and had been true because he
never possessed. He would mourn forever for this moon-faced chit, who if
she were to confront the matured Sheldon of to-day would not rouse even
interest.

We tramped the live-long night, returning to the palace when the sky
flushed red with the rising sun.

Hilarity had deserted the palace, the stillness of wan fatigue reigned,
and surrounding all was that stale, dissipated atmosphere, the aftermath
of an orgie. The lights were still burning in the spacious salon, and
the crystal floor was strewn with wilted flowers smothering and dying in
their own sickening-sweet, poisonous odor.

The banquet tables flickered in gorgeous disarray, their rich scarfs
stained with the wine that had flowed freely, the pungent odor mingled
with that of stale fruit and dying flowers. I turned from it all with
loathing, and Sheldon hurried me up to our apartments.

Saxe. and Saunders groaned with indigestion in their deep sleep of wine;
our entrance did not disturb them. As though I were a child Sheldon
prepared me for rest, then hovered at my side and talked, talked, and
talked. My limbs stiffened with weariness, my brain ached and wandered,
then finally——



                              CHAPTER XXI.


Disappointment is destiny: the grim inevitable to climax every ambition
and season the soul with reason. Disappointment spares this world of
imbeciles. And I, for all my wealth, became a man afflicted with a grand
disappointment, just a swirling atom in this planet of passion. The room
was flooded with yellow sunlight; after all it was a good, cosy old
world, and why was I complaining when, for the first time in my life, I
realized just what I expected only spoiled the good effect by trying to
tease myself into false security.

My three friends watched me slyly, though engaged in their usual
discussion. Sheldon and Saunders had returned to their old disputes.
Saxe. was trying to make peace, and once more did I feel the usual
inclination to sic the two old boys on. I joined them and was soon drawn
into the mêlée. Saxe. expostulated, and I discovered I could still
laugh.

Mike’s entrance ended the row. He informed me Alpha Centauri wished to
see me at once. It occurred to me I was no longer at the beck and call
of this woman who had killed the beautiful, the poetical in me, and I
replied: “I would follow shortly.” Mike stared and possibly fancied some
disrespect to the superb Centaurian, and he could fancy what he damned
please.

“We have arranged to depart in ten days,” Saxe. informed me; “couldn’t
possibly manage it sooner.”

“And the world can explode in that time,” muttered Sheldon.

“But it won’t!” snapped Saxe. “We are starting a month earlier than
expected. Has it occurred to you, boys, that lacking a few months the
seven years of absence are nearly up? I think we will just about catch
the last vessel. And now that we are really going the Centaurians want
us to remain. They have warned me of all manner of dangers and
emphasized the fact that owing to volcanic origin, etc., the ice regions
are constantly changing form and that possibly we would encounter a vast
frozen ocean whose waves were insurmountable ice mountains, where
formerly were barren valleys and cliffs. I replied we were forced to
overcome all obstacles as our return to our own country was imperative.
They consider us a brave quartette. One man particularly regretted our
hastened departure, as he is perfecting an instrument which would
establish communication between the two hemispheres, and he wished to
present one to me for experiment. He has promised me the plan; from
descriptions I think it is all wrong; I can improve upon it; but it
would be wonderful if we could communicate with these people from our
side. They want us to remain among them the worst way, however, and
urged with every argument, finally declaring our people had long ago
given us up and no benefit ever came from resurrection.”

“Nonsense, Saxe.!” I bawled, “you’re hinting to remain. If I’m obliged
to go alone, I will get out of this cursed place and quick. I detest
Centauri!”

“There, there,” he answered soothingly; “I am more anxious to go than
you; merely wished to test, and you’re game. Guess the latest phase the
Centaurians have taken regarding us—the Vespa Prince is responsible for
it.”

“Out with it,” I laughed. “I’m going to worry him some before I go
anyway.”

“This wise Prince says we’re not from any strange land; we’re Vespas,”
Saxe. informed us. “He declares the earth is round—ahem!—and that the
Vespa Belt and, incidentally Centauri, comprise the whole globe.

“He claims that only one horn of his famous crescent is visible, the
other is the foundation of the great ice regions and extends beyond the
Pole; the land there is the Vespa Belt. He’s about as wise as some of
the smarties on our side, who insist the whole world is explored when
they’ve toured the five little continents. The Prince thinks it’s just
possible we may have come from the extended horn of his little old
crescent, but doubts it, and thinks it’s more likely we’re merely four
clever adventurers from one of the large cities of his dominion. Now
what d’ye think of that, Salucci?”

“Four adventurous hornets!” roared Sheldon.

“Hornets, by George!” echoed Saunders.

I was astonished, but joined in the yells that followed an inelegant
remark from Sheldon, who rarely missed an opportunity, and Saunders
helped him out with the same kind of thing. I took my turn and the
buffooned Vespa Prince was guyed unmercifully. The four strayed hornets
were making an awful din when Mike marched in, silencing us with his
gravity and dignity. He disapproved of our boisterousness and came to
remind me I must see Alpha Centauri.

Sheldon had his fling at him also, and Saunders gave his snicker that
exasperated all who heard it, and caused Saxe. to raise his hands as
though the fun had gone far enough.

“I shall have to see her,” I murmured nervously. “She sent for me over
an hour ago. It will have to take place; it might as well be now.”

“Not much!” cried Sheldon. “I would avoid it. What do you suppose she
has to say? I bet ten to one, boys, I have the whole interview in a
nutshell. Sally, reproachful—the left man always is, I wonder why—and
she will whine and simper, and regret, and want him to hang around to
see how happy she can be with the other fellow. Same old affair, same
old woman, no scarcity of ’em—what did he come over here for?”

Saxe. glanced sternly and hushed him up.

“Go, my boy,” he told me; “but cut it short; make it the last time; end
everything now. Don’t permit her to play with you further.”

“She did not play with me,” I interrupted; “As far as she is concerned
everything was——”

“All right,” he hurriedly replied; “then you played with her, which is
the same thing. Be firm, make it the last meeting.”

“Saxe., you don’t understand,” I explained; “when I joined the
expedition, it was to seek a madly-adored ideal—I found a woman and
still seek. The ideal has no rival; I am true, faithful to my creation.
Alpha Centauri never was divine. Her beauty pales before the
gorgeousness of my ideal. The love-lorn Virgillius is dead. It is the
same old Salucci itching for a new sensation.”

I followed Mike. He regarded me curiously. “Alpha Centauri is grieved at
your delay,” he remarked.

I shrugged my shoulders, astonished at my indifference, but sighed
deeply as I saluted the exquisite creature reclining upon a skin-covered
couch with a background of huge white blossoms whose heavy fragrance
consumed the air. She arose, watching me doubtfully, hesitatingly. I
hurried to her and caught her hands tightly; the witchery of her eyes
was upon me.

“Alpha,” I murmured.

“Yes,” she replied. “I know, I know. Ah, if it had only been,
Virgillius!”

I dropped her hands.

“Do not reproach me,” she pleaded. “I love as you have taught me. I’ve
learned the lesson well. The Image claims me in the form of the Vespa
Prince. Benlial! ah, Benlial! brings immortality; I am for eternity the
Alpha who united the white races. In less than a century the Vespa race
is extinct, mentioned as history, submerged by the powerful Centauris.
Fate mocks, linking me to a people whom formerly I ridiculed, scorned;
yet I would not have it otherwise. I adore my Prince. Love brought
immortality, yet I would renounce both if once again I could be the
Alpha of Sol. I existed in a divine atmosphere, gazed upon with awe; I
basked joyously in the glorious golden light of my spiritual grandeur.
Priestess of the Sun has passed away forever—immortality is the reward
for undying regret.

“Virgillius, you have made me a woman, given me a conscience, a heart
throbbing with exquisite passion, but in creating me you neglected Fate,
yet you gave me life and I am yours.”

I stared at her, this marvelous woman in her folly defied even Fate.
Then I knelt before Alpha Centauri in reverence of her grand, almost
divine nature.

“I would be a monster to permit the sacrifice,” I murmured. “Do not mar
the perfection of my creation. Be happy, joyous, bright as the golden
rays of the god you worship. May you exist always in the brilliant dream
of the present. In ten day I leave Centauri forever.”

She drew in her breath sharply, then clung to me, alarmed.

“We can never part,” she whispered. “Virgillius, I have been blind.”

I did not question her near-sightedness, but gazed rapturously into the
sorrowful eyes, then passionately kissed her lips. But I knew. God! I
knew. She spoke without reason that was in the keeping of the Vespa
Prince. But her love glances made me reckless. The moment absorbed me, I
forgot Saxe., everybody, and had but one thought—possession. I crushed
her to me, ranting madly in my passion, the sweet eyes drooped and the
lovely face flushed beneath my ardor. Suddenly she stood erect, as
though listening, then with a startled exclamation sprang from me—in
that instant the whole universe seemed to come between us. Then I
perceived Mike’s ugly head thrust between the hangings at the entrance.
Mike, unruffled, seeing all with sightless eyes.

Before he could speak a powerful white hand clutched and pushed him
aside and the Vespa Prince strode into the room. He gave me a sharp,
scrutinizing glance, then hurried to Alpha. And I, looking at him in the
full light of day, marveled at his god-like strength and beauty. He was
the substance, I the shadow. Physically, mentally, he was a force beyond
me. Though I loved her deeply my ardor was mild compared with his
amorous adoration. He loved her; yes, with a mad, crazy desire that
destroyed all barriers. And she? Her eyes beamed upon him with wonder
and delight. It was joy to her just to have him near her. He clasped her
firm, white arm and bent close, whispering eagerly, then led her to the
far end of the room. She was completely under his control and he exulted
in his power. He was wildly enamoured, but he was master. I had been her
slave; she pitied, regretted me; but the Vespa Prince was all the world
to her. Absorbed in one another they had completely forgotten me and
silently I departed.

Heavy gloom had apparently settled upon my three friends, but they
brightened considerably at my return, especially when perceiving my
calmness, and I accompanied them to view the instrument that was to
speed us over the Pole again.

                  *       *       *       *       *

During the final days we were lavishly fêted. The Centaurians presented
all manner of flattering inducements, and noted orators from all parts
of the land came, argued, vainly tempting us to remain among them. They
warned us that we had become acclimated, and like the Centaurians would
perish when reaching a certain latitude. But we couldn’t see it, and I
was the most anxious to depart. I thought of my three guardians,
Middleton & Co., of the sceptre-like power my wealth influenced, by
eminence in my own world, and maybe it was not altogether my wealth
Beauty desired. My life had been marred; Cynicism, the brilliant, cruel
blossom of Gold, had blinded me from the cradle to the purity of nature.
The Ideal never possessed, still charmed; far above the earthly she
lured, ever fair and true—unattainable.

Alpha Centauri realized the image of my brain, but the living, tangible
woman dispelled the charm and I awoke with a shock, yet rapturous that
the Ideal still existed. And I knew once out of this cursed country,
away from the strangely fascinating woman who bore its name, that even
regret would cease and again would I be the free, careless Salucci,
fleeing from one idea to another; fickle, but comfortable.

Centauri and I never met again in private. She always had a fond,
regretful glance and lingering hand pressure, but did not seek to see me
alone and I did not ask her. We had parted with a sweet embrace and I
would leave her happy with her Prince and—immortality.

                  *       *       *       *       *

The day finally arrived. At noon we sailed forever from this
strange, glorious land. Already Centauri and its people seemed of
the past and would soon become faint, formless, in the soothing haze
of memory. Saxe. lost trace of me in the pleasures offered by those
interested in his craft. Sheldon had been mobbed and captured by the
Geological-Geographical societies, and Saunders had been at the
Observatory for three days past. I was the guest of a fashionable
coterie of gay, idle young dandies, who made my last week in their
freakish, but beautiful, world one of revelry. They were to be my
escort in the farewell march to the ship, and as mid-day approached
clustered about me eagerly, intent, apparently, that I should not
have an instant for reflection.

They flattered, cajoled, and with delicate innuendo made me aware of my
immense popularity. Incidentally I discovered that I was the last of the
quartette to remain in the palace, and casually my attention was
directed to the great mass of people who, since daybreak, had been
swarming into the gardens and streets surrounding the palace, and who
now sweltered and jostled impatiently in the intense noon heat.

I spied my two old literary friends forcing their way through the crowd,
and eagerly beckoned, while my gay companions boisterously hailed them.
They responded by immediately disappearing beneath the flame-glinting
portico, and elbowed their way to my side. Both gentlemen bubbled with
fun and witticism, and I learned that my “meteor-like visit had been
mystically impressive”; also, that I was too light for tragedy, too deep
for comedy; my forte lay in the enjoyment I could take in both. I was
advised to never again attempt any character except myself, and both in
chorus implored me to cut out romance altogether.

Of course I joined in the laughter, though hazy to the joke, and while
raking my brains for an apt retort was unconscious of the mischief
brewing. I was suddenly seized and hoisted high. In spite of my protests
I was rushed to the vestibule and dumped into a throne of foliage and
rainbow blossoms, then borne aloft upon the shoulders of these rascally
exquisites of Centur, began a merry, triumphant march to the ship.
People cheered me wildly all along the route, and I yelled myself
hoarse, while ladies pelted me with blossoms, and though I flashed bold
glances right and left my mind suddenly shifted from the gay, noisy
scene, and I glanced despairingly in the direction of the palace
sparkling in the noon sun. Alpha Centauri had not said farewell.
Centauri! Centauri! The name rattled through my brain. I turned sick
with longing, myth or woman, I craved to see her again. And so befogged
my senses became between sweet, forlorn memories, and the tumult around
me that as the sudden ear-splitting shriek of a whistle pierced the air
I jumped and nearly fell from my toppling floral throne.

Pandemonium reigned as Saxe.’s great machine speeded into view, and he
beamed and shouted, waving his cap at the cheering mob, while Sheldon
and Saunders stood upon the platform yelling like Apaches. The engine
slackened as it neared the ship, then rushed up the bridge, running the
full length of the deck.

My three comrades appeared suspiciously flustered and anxious as I
boarded the ship, and busied constantly about me till we cut from the
steel shell and floated upward—foolish trio.

Friends pressed around us and many were the long hand-clasps and good
wishes huskily expressed. I was thankful when the bell of warning
sounded and all hurriedly departed. Then, amid wild cheers, the ship
slowly rose, the loud whirring, flapping of sail wings almost drowned
the “good luck” called up to us. Higher and still higher we floated, the
vast throng below massed and wavered. I leaned dangerously over the
railing yelling, frantically signaling to the people who could no longer
see or hear me. Then the ship shifted to a slanting course, darting
meteor-like over the deep blue bay of Centur. Rich, fertile valleys,
undulating mountains, thread-like silvery streams, flashed, then faded
in the blue speed-mist as a fabulous poppy scene; and far in the
distance, glimmering mystically through the heliotrope pall that
shielded her, was the phantom city of Centur, the white city of delicate
fairy spires and domes, and tall, fantastic, glinting Sun Temples.
Beautiful Centur.

The ship soared higher, piercing the swiftly driven wind clouds which
enveloped us in a fleecy mist, obscuring forever the marvelous
dreamland. A burning flood scorched my eyes, a sickening regret raked my
heart; after all it was a fair, smiling, wondrous country, the
Centaurians, friends. God in heaven! if I dared—if I dared—I would
return, return at once! But Centauri had vanished for all time, and my
only consolation was to sigh miserably, though cursing my weakness and
gaze distractedly in the direction of the evanescent city; and this
unhappiness, love-sickness, self-pity so engrossed me that I did not
hear the soft, stealthy footsteps approaching. My arm was gently
clasped, a form leaned lovingly against me while a low, tremulous voice
murmured my name. Startled, incredulous, I turned quickly and met the
glorious, fascinating eyes of Alpha Centauri.

“You did not forget!” I cried in delight.

“I can never forget, Virgillius,” she whispered, twining her arm in
mine. “I shall accompany you as far north as it is deemed safe.”

Determined to see the last of us she had boarded the ship at dawn, long
before the crowd collected. The Vespa Prince was aboard also, but clever
old Centauri kept that Prince in tow, never letting him out of his
sight, and for six whole days I had Alpha entirely to myself.

She was fond of me—very; but she had killed the ideal. The passionate
adoration that had caused me such misery was dead. Still she was the one
woman in all the world I had ever really loved, and fickle, light, I may
be, I could never forget her. I thought my heart would break when
parting, and to me it seemed a criminal fate that ordained our lives
should be separated; but later I realized it was all for the best; the
exalted passion she inspired had vanished, and only exaltation could
make love a delight to me.

For Sheldon’s benefit we took the route north over the Ocstas so he
could view the magnificent ruins of his great body of fresh water.

The Otega was still in eruption. The earth around had dissolved like wax
and half the range was leveled with the country; miles were buried
beneath ashes and lava.

Seventy-five miles farther north we came upon the encampment of the
Octrogonas and Potolilis. The ship lowered and we spent several hours
with the two tribes who were still at war, and still hoped to extinguish
each other. Potolili’s beautiful daughter was still a prisoner, though
Octrogona had wedded her; and Potolili had lost the wife whom Octrogona
claimed as his sister. The Octrogonas openly declared she had been
murdered, and the bitter feud waged savagely. Potolili fiercely declared
he would extinguish his opponents. He ordered all prisoners slaughtered
like cattle. Alpha shuddered. Potolili laughed cynically as he watched
her, and said the world would become a moon before the supreme passion,
Hate, became extinct. Both tribes loaded us with gifts, and each were
sincere in wishing us luck. Potolili declared his race would in time
travel beyond the Pole and join our people.

We bade the warring chiefs farewell; even the savages of this country
had become dear to us.

As the atmosphere cleared, rarified to a penetrating distinctness, we
could see hundreds of miles ahead. Centauri had passed from us forever;
we were up in the snow regions, and far in the distance, like a gigantic
shadow resting upon the vast whiteness, was the fearful, barren regions
of the Pole, tipped by the violet, illusive, ice mountains that had led
many an explorer to his death.

The Centaurians traveling with us suffered intensely from the cold and
had become strangely silent and sad; all dreaded the finale.

Alpha’s vivaciousness was gone, the sweet face paled before the biting
blast of the north, the glorious eyes clouded and drooped with
weariness, yet watched my every movement with intense wistfulness—our
last parting was near.

The ship gradually sailed nearer the earth, then a few miles farther
north the order was given to lower—the hour I dreaded had arrived.
Alpha, breathing with difficulty, tremblingly clung to my arm. I
caressed and tried to soothe her.

Saxe., Sheldon and Saunders entered the _Propellier_. The Centaurians
collected around the machine in sorrowful farewell. The ship softly
plowed the snow, the bridge was lowered, and we cheered as Saxe. put the
machine in motion and dashed out into the great white desert.

I strode forward with Alpha clinging to me; suddenly she flung her arms
around me and laid her cheek against mine.

“Let them go,” she murmured; “you must remain. Virgillius, we cannot
part! Ah, do not leave me!”

“Why should he remain?” demanded a voice close beside us.

Alpha gasped, but continued to cling to me, and startled, we turned to
find the Vespa Prince glaring at us with jealous eyes.

Beautiful Centauri laughed hysterically, pressing her hands over her
eyes as though bewildered, then she clung to my shoulder, murmuring:

“Remain; do not heed him.”

“Remain for what?” I whispered, caressing her hair.

“For love,” she murmured; “for love—it is not too late.”

The Prince moved restlessly.

“Be patient,” I muttered; “you will have her always. I paved the way.”

“Nonsense!” he retorted. “I could have taught her; so could any man who
had the courage. She is not a saint, just a sweet, warm-hearted woman
who grieves at your departure because you came near being mated. Alpha,”
he continued, roughly taking her from me, “look up, be brave, make your
choice, there is yet time. If it is Virgillius I return to the Belt,
content that you are happy. If I am the one, say farewell, and let
Virgillius depart in peace.”

She shook her head, then slowly raised her eyes to his compelling
glance; he drew her to him, she sighed wearily and her head sank to his
breast. He held out his hand and gripped mine in a parting shake.

Without a word I turned and ran off the ship, which floated upward ere
my feet scarcely touched the snow. Centauri leaned dangerously over the
railing, her long black hair floated on the icy breeze, but she was
clasped securely in the arms of the Vespa Prince.

“Virgillius! Virgillius!” she called; stretching out her arms. “Come
back; ah, Virgillius, come back to me!”

Higher rose the ship.

“Virgillius!” the name wafted from the clouds. I scarce could see the
lovely face. Then something fell; a bright yellow object softly plowed
the snow and my control deserted me as I raised the shining thing. It
was the little golden cap she had always worn to keep secret the charm
that none but she could see—a huge yellow stone that flashed fire. Alpha
Centauri gave up her religion when I passed from her life. To me she had
given the sacred emblem of the Sun.

She and the ship had sailed swiftly away forever, and in despair I
shrieked and ran, hoping, hopeless, if further there might be some trace
in the sky. Nothing, all gloom and terrifying stillness—the one woman in
all the world that I loved was sailing far above the clouds, consoled in
the arms of her affinity.

This was fate.

And all that remained of this wonderful creature was a sweet remembrance
and the little emblemic cap with its hidden treasure that only a
Centauri dare possess.

Centauri! Centauri! my beautiful——.


                                THE END.

------------------------------------------------------------------------



                          TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES


 1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.
 2. Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed.
 3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.





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