THE WANING OF A WORLD

by W. Elwyn Backus

Author of “The Hall Bedroom”

It all started over Professor Palmer’s book, Man and the Universe.

Out of this grew the Palmer-Margard controversy which attracted such wide-spread interest. Profusely illustrated magazine articles abounded on the subject, while Sunday supplements, with imagination rampant, were in their glory. The upshot of this literary duel was the publication of a volume by Professor L. R. Margard, F. R. S., etc., in critical review of his contemporary’s deductions.

Public opinion was divided into two camps, each with its chosen champion. The explanation of certain geographical features on a planet some thirty-five million miles away absorbed more of the fickle public’s attention for the moment than the outrageous price of a pound of sugar or a dozen of eggs.

In spite of the tax upon credulity which Professor Palmer’s theories demanded, they inspired belief among the majority. Perhaps this is because most of us are gifted with an over-supply of imagination; and the Palmer theories appealed strongly to the imagination.

But the majority is not always right; rather the contrary, all of which Professor Margard promptly pointed out. “A challenge to the thinking world,” he branded the Palmer theories. To which the eminent Professor Bernard Palmer, A.B., LL. D., retaliated that even Columbus was ridiculed. No doubt, he stated, an astronomer on Mars would have equal difficulty in convincing a Martian public of the possible existence of inhabitants on our earth.

Man and the Universe was written by Professor Palmer after nine years of intensive personal study of the planet Mars. Even his opponents accorded him admiration for his unremitting labors, his perseverance and successful observation.

All of these observations were made from the lonely Palmer observatory constructed near F——, California, 8,000 feet above sea level. Equipped with a giant equatorial telescope having a 48-inch object glass, and situated ideally as to atmospheric conditions, Professor Palmer was excellently prepared to observe our much-discussed neighbor.

One result of his observations was the careful recording and mapping of curious straight lines visible on the planet. Running from the polar caps down to and across the equator, crossing and recrossing, these lines formed a veritable network over the planet’s surface. Here and there round spots appeared at junctures of the lines. Some of the lines were discovered to be double, although these were few, the great majority of them appearing singly.

By continually observing the planet during ensuing seasons, a marked decrease in the size of the polar caps during the Martian summers was noted, with a corresponding darkening of the “canals”, as Professor Palmer designated the lines. The spots, or terminals, he called “oases.” His deductions were, that owing to the admitted scarcity of water on the arid planet, the Martians transported water from the vast, melting polar snows by means of canals. It was this question of canals, and the much mooted question of sufficient heat to sustain life on the small planet, which caused contention between the two renowned experts.

2

Despite many years of concentration on technical things, Professor Palmer was a surprisingly human and ordinary-appearing man. The fact that he was considered one of the world’s foremost authorities on astronomy, and was a lecturer of world-wide renown, did not detract from his naturally benign disposition. Yet there was something compelling about his personality. Students before whom he delivered lectures accorded him marked attention, and went away with a graphic picture in their minds of the things he wished to convey to them.

“Henry,” he remarked quizzically to his young but capable secretary one morning, having just read a particularly seathing criticism of his pet theories, “these gentlemen at least take my hobby seriously. That in itself convinces me that my deductions are worthy of consideration.”

“They take advantage of the fact that you have no means of definitely proving your deductions,” defended Henry, loyally. “As you have remarked, even Columbus was ridiculed; but he, at least, had means of obtaining concrete proof to silence the scoffers.”

“Well put, my friend. A few more earnest advocates of my theories like yourself, and I should require no proof.”

“That reminds me,” resumed the grateful Henry G. Simms, “there was a young chap in here yesterday who claimed to be an ardent champion of your views. He was extremely anxious to see you. Said he had a matter of great importance to take up with you.”

“He’ll return?”

“Grant’s army couldn’t keep him away. He will be here at 10 o’clock.”

“So? What sort of a chap is he?” curiously.

“A well set-up fellow of about twenty-four. About six feet tall; light hair, pleasant features, refined manners. Impetuous sort of fellow.”

That was how Robert Sprague happened to meet Professor Palmer a half hour later.

A pleasant thrill possessed him as he shook hands with the professor. The kindly, though keen, gray eyes met his encouragingly. This was contrary to Robert’s expectations, for he had assumed that he would be fortunate if he succeeded in seeing so busy and prominent a man for a few minutes. He was prepared even for a curt dismissal. What he did not know was that his evident earnestness and enthusiasm had obtained for him an interview through the redoubtable Henry where others would have failed.

Without realizing how he had commenced, he found himself conversing easily with this learned man as if such interviews were everyday occurrences with him.

The professor was impressed with equal favorableness by his caller. The frank, winning countenance and earnest manner created a profound impression upon him in spite of an extraordinary story.

“Let me get this right,” said the professor, finally. “You say that the machine is virtually perfected—that you have succeeded in accomplishing the aim for which your father unsuccessfully spent his life?”

“Not unsuccessfully,” defended Robert, quickly; “without what he had accomplished I could never have constructed a machine of its kind.”

“But it can actually be controlled as you suggest?”

“It can.”

“Pardon my insistence, Mr. Sprague. The idea is so—ah—extraordinary.”

“I realize that, professor. I should be happy to have you see for yourself.”

Professor Palmer pondered. The young man’s story had impressed him, notwithstanding its unusualness. At any rate, he concluded, he would investigate. He could risk no more than disappointment. If there was anything in it, the possibilities for research and discovery were boundless. He found his own enthusiasm rivaling that of his caller as he momentarily allowed it free rein. Why—he might yet prove his own weird theories to the world!

The next moment he smiled at his own indulgence. First he would humor this young man by investigating his wild claims: time enough for dreams afterward.

“Well, Mr. Sprague,” he said, “this is an age of strange accomplishments. I’m going to look at that machine of yours. How will tomorrow evening do?”

A feeling of relief and exultation swept over Robert as the professor spoke. At last his absurd-sounding claims for the life-work of his father had been taken seriously, and recognition of his labors was within reach.

He stammered his thanks, shook hands with the amused professor, and departed.

“That boy believes in the machine; and he is no fool, either,” remarked Professor Palmer after Robert had left.

“The world is full of them,” observed Henry sagely.

Henry even openly questioned his employer’s theories at times. Not that the latter minded, for the ensuing arguments furnished interesting debates, and fresh ideas sometimes; and in the end he usually succeeded in silencing his intrepid secretary—if only temporarily.

But today, Henry’s caustic comment irritated him. He wanted to believe in the weird claims of his caller regarding a strange, gravity-defying machine, in spite of his saner judgment to the contrary. He subconsciously resented any expression of his own disbelief.

Professor Palmer slept poorly that night, though he rarely failed to sleep soundly. Try as he would, he could not dismiss from his mind the hope which struggled so persistently with his natural skepticism.

But he was not alone in his sleeplessness. Robert slept not a minute that night. Over and over he reflected on just how he would best explain the intricacies of the Sphere in order that he could convince Professor Palmer of its practicability. The fact that he lacked the necessary funds to complete the apparatus gave him considerable concern. For much, therefore, depended upon his ability to convince the professor of the feasibility of mere theories.

3

It was with considerable relief and expectancy on both sides that Robert and Professor Palmer shook hands in the big, high-ceilinged parlor of the old Sprague manor.

Their footsteps echoed eerily through the house as they tramped back through the long dark hallway to a big barnlike addition which had long served as a workshop. Here Robert’s father had spent countless weary hours, to the despair of his good wife, who had already followed him to his reward.

As they entered the doorway the professor became aware of an immense gray-black sphere in the dusk of the far end of the shop. The top of this sphere reached within a few inches of the lofty ceiling. It was probably twenty-five feet in diameter, and rested upon a short scaffold. What appeared to be curious round windows in its side, like portholes in a ship’s hull, gave it the appearance of a gigantic diver’s helmet.

Robert approached the Sphere. Without hesitancy he selected and pressed upon what appeared to be an ordinary rivet-head like hundreds of others over the Sphere’s shell. A round hatch, large enough to admit a man, swung open, disclosing a black and uninviting interior. Flustered, he courteously invited Professor Palmer to enter first.

For an instant the professor hesitated. The weirdness of the whole affair suddenly struck him forcibly. This young man’s queer claims, the big manor with its eery echoes and atmosphere of dismal loneliness—all seemed to cry out to him to beware. The dull gray shape looming above them in the gathering twilight looked disquietingly like some freak prison, such as a madman might invent.

Robert, sensing the professor’s misgivings, apologized for not having considered his difficulty in negotiating the unfamiliar interior in the darkness, and relieved him by entering first. A sharp click, and a comfortable glow of light suffused the interior. They passed up a brief, winding stairway into a long chamber.

“This is the gyrostatic control which neutralizes the force of gravity,” Robert began, calmly, as if this assertion were the simplest thing in the world. He indicated a complicated mass of glittering machinery in the center of the compartment in which they stood.

He reached for a small lever, and pulled it toward him. Simultaneously there was a soft whirring sound. For a moment the floor tilted slightly, then steadied again.

“And the power for this?” queried the professor.

“Furnished by storage batteries,” Robert explained. “The batteries are recharged by petrol-driven dynamos.”

“But your supply of petrol? Where have you sufficient space for a supply that will last any considerable length of time?”

“All round us.”

The professor swept their surroundings with his sharp eyes. No receptacle was visible. Two full-size doors and several small ones appeared in the partitions; but nothing suggested a receptacle for a large supply of fuel. Then quite suddenly it dawned upon him that there was a vast amount of space unaccounted for between the partitions, floor and ceiling, and the Sphere’s outside shell. His respect for Robert’s claims was growing. So far, at least, the young inventor seemed quite confident.

“What is this?” asked the professor, indicating what resembled the breech of a dreadnaught’s gun protruding from the floor. Electric wires, dials, and other curious devices were connected to it.

“That’s the Norrensen Tube, so named by my father after its inventor, an old friend of his, now deceased. It is capable of terrible destruction. It will produce a bolt of lightning rivaling the elements, which will strike up to twelve miles away—and it can be aimed with startling accuracy. I remember seeing a giant oak blasted into pulp with it in a test across a valley four miles wide, when I was a boy.”

“But, how is it that the world has never heard of this remarkable invention?”

“Norrensen was an eccentric character whom the world had wronged grievously. He insisted on conducting the tests with greatest secrecy. Overtaken suddenly by a fatal illness, he exacted a promise from my father to retain the secret of this weapon till his death.”

“What a terrible weapon that would make in the hands of a man bent on destruction!” mused the professor.

The compartment they were in looked to be about twelve by twenty-five feet, and some ten feet in height. There were three round ports at either of its rounded ends; these, being located below the bulge of the Sphere’s greatest girth, enabled one to obtain a good view downward as well as outward. The straight sidewalls and ceiling were windowless, but a vertical well extending from the floor, beside the controls, to the outer shell, with heavy, circular glass panes at either end, enabled the operator to see out directly below. The compartment was flooded with soft, mellow light from a dozen frosted incandescent lamps.

“Deducting for this compartment, two small storerooms, the cupboards, and the water and oxygen tanks,” Robert was saying, “the net capacity of the petrol reservoirs is more than 40,000 gallons. That and the full storage power of the batteries is sufficient to operate the high-speed, but delicately balanced gyrostats, more than fifty days and nights continuously.”

“You say that gravity is completely neutralized?”

“Almost entirely so, even with all reservoirs filled to capacity. The stability of the gyrostatic device is so powerful that weight becomes a negligible factor. If you will follow me I can prove this to you.”

The professor quivered with suppressed excitement as he followed Robert down the flight of steps leading to the outer manhole through which they had entered. At last he was about to know beyond doubt whether the remarkable claims made by his guide had any foundation. If they had, a new era would be unfolded. Again his common sense reacted against hope, blasting his short-lived credulity. That either this boy or his father should have mastered the problem of the fifth dimension after experts of centuries had failed, seemed unbelievable. And yet—

In the deepening twilight the Sphere seemed to loom above them larger than ever. Its lighted portholes, contrasting strangely with its shadowy bulk, gave it a weird, fantastic, almost unearthly aspect.

“The Sphere is now in almost perfect equilibrium from every direction,” Robert explained, pride creeping into his voice unconsciously. He indicated two iron rungs near the bottom of the Sphere. “If you will take hold here, you will be able to move it in any direction without effort. Softly though—keep a firm hold upon it.”

Doubting still, Professor Palmer grasped the rungs, fully expecting to find the vast bulk an immovable weight.

To his intense surprize it rose from the floor as if it were an air-filled balloon! He had exerted himself not the slightest bit. The Sphere had simply risen at his first slight lift, and had continued to rise until a slight tug upon his arm stopped it. He extended his right arm, still gripping one rung. The Sphere followed easily, its only resistance apparently that of the atmosphere surrounding it.

“Now release it,” suggested Robert.

The astonished professor did so, half expecting to see it crash to the floor.

But nothing of the sort occurred. For several seconds the giant ball continued to rise very slowly, like a sluggish soap-bubble. Doubtless he had unwittingly allowed his hand to waver slightly when releasing it.

Then very, very slowly the Sphere began to descend, finally settling softly and with scarcely a sound. Though it had been but a few feet above the floor, it required fully a minute to come to rest. One noticeable feature was its vertical stability. It neither rolled in its descent nor wobbled in settling, but simply came down with a paradoxical combination of majestic ponderance and zephyrlike softness.

“Remarkable!” ejaculated the professor, feeling the inadequacy of the word when applied to this marvelous achievement.

“The rigid stability,” Robert explained, “is automatically controlled by a delicate device attached to the central upright gyroscope.”

“I was under the impression that the entire apparatus was unaffected by gravity.”

“This device is the exception. The Sphere’s weight is neutralized to an absolute minimum by the gyroscopic control, but it was necessary to maintain one point of gravitational contact in order to establish some permanent upright stability; otherwise, the Sphere would revolve at random when in midair.”

“Manifestly.”

“This device also makes it possible to maintain the observation ports at the ends of the main compartment in any desired direction horizontally. It may surprize you to hear that this device was the last part perfected. My father’s final prostration was largely due to its intricacies. He passed away just as he was about to achieve its perfection.” A slight quaver in Robert’s voice betrayed his grief and his deep regard for his departed parent.

Professor Palmer’s eyes kindled sympathetically.

“On the contrary,” he replied, “I can readily understand the difficulties encountered.”

A silence ensued during which each was busy with his own thoughts. Robert was thinking of the most important feature of all—the propulsion of the Sphere, and its control. This principle had been worked out on a small scale, but owing to its prohibitive cost on a larger scale he had been unable to perfect its application to the Sphere. Professor Palmer, with his personal resources and backing, could finance it, but even then, Robert estimated, it would tax his total resources heavily. Robert held no illusions on this point, and he was wondering how best to present his plea for financial aid.

Professor Palmer was trying to visualize the possibilities in the Sphere. In it he saw a possibility of proving his own theories regarding the planet Mars, and this brought him round to the very feature on which Robert’s thoughts were concentrated at that moment.

“Hm-m,” mused the professor. “And you claim to have worked out a scheme of magnetic propulsion requiring a minimum of internal energy?”

Robert drew a full breath and prepared to retrench.

“Only on a small scale, professor. I have a miniature model over here, illustrating the practicability of the idea.”

He switched on the light over a work-bench, revealing a curious contrivance about five inches high. A dull black rod, terminating in a tiny blunt bell-like device, hung suspended from a universal joint. The whole was supported by a small frame bolted to the table. Examination of the bell-like bulb showed that its larger end was flat, and composed of a dull, whitish metallic substance similar in appearance to aluminum. Its outer surface was a brilliant silver. This bulb seemed of extraordinary weight for so small an object, swinging heavily back to its former position when released, where it came to rest quickly over the center of the disk almost as if bound in that position with a strong, invisible elastic band.

“This pendulum,” Robert explained, in response to the compelling and unconcealed curiosity in the professor’s eyes, “contains a rare, and hitherto unknown, element which my father named ‘mythonite.’ A good part of his life was devoted to the accumulation of this small quantity for experimental purposes. It was obtained bit by bit through a difficult and costly process from vast amounts of river-gravel, in conjunction with platinum, to which, strangely enough, it has a strong antipathy. This condition is responsible for the most curious discovery of all. The effect of gravity upon mythonite is almost entirely annulled through platinum!”

“Remarkable,” said the professor; but there was a trace of incredulity in his voice which was not lost on Robert’s alert ears.

“This casing,” resumed Robert, tapping on the polished side casing of the pendulum, “is a very thin layer of platinum. With the pendulum inverted, the earth’s attraction is intercepted by the casing. At the same time the attraction of any other heavenly body within the radius of the uncovered surface of the mythonite is unchanged. Further, I have discovered that the free attraction of mythonite is greatly intensified by electricity, without any corresponding increase in its gravity through the film of platinum.”

He clicked on a small switch attached to the base of the frame. An odd phosphorescence suffused the disk-like surface of the pendulum.

“Now, professor, will you raise the pendulum to a vertical position? Take hold of the insulated rod, here.”

Professor Palmer raised the pendulum slowly. Its original weight, extraordinary as it had seemed before, was now several times greater, to his astonishment. It now seemed almost as if it were riveted into position.

But gradually, as the glowing disk was pointed upward, its weight decreased. At an angle of ninety degrees its weight had virtually ceased to exist. As it neared an upright position it felt as light as a feather. In an upright position it seemed poised between the professor’s fingers as if about to take flight.

He released it softly. It wavered unsteadily for a moment like a flower balancing in a light breeze, then steadied. The professor’s fingers, clumsy from pent-up excitement, collided with it. With a sudden swoop, it dropped heavily into its former pendent position, coming to rest abruptly.

Professor Palmer drew a sharp breath excitedly.

“Young man,” he said, extending his hand, “you have convinced me, even as I hope to convince a lot of other doubting Thomases and scoffers some day. Apparently you have evolved the greatest discovery of all time; I congratulate you.”

There was no doubting his distinguished visitor’s sincerity. Robert’s voice was husky as he stammered his appreciation.

“Now, let’s get down to brass tacks,” continued the professor. “This device installed on a large enough scale in the Sphere would make it possible to propel it anywhere in space. The possibilities for research would be virtually boundless. Have you estimated the probable cost of such an apparatus?”

“Often. Even with the aid of improved equipment and sufficient workmen, it would require considerable time and a great expenditure. Fifty thousand dollars is a low estimate—and seven months’ time.”

Professor Palmer looked thoughtful. Though he was known to be comfortably fixed, his total resources did not quite meet this sum. Slave to science though he might be, he hesitated to gamble his entire fortune on a visionary venture that might prove to be impracticable. As to the deficiency, he could get that as a loan or a gift from one or more of his many wealthy friends who had every confidence in him. Should the scheme fail, he would be penniless—possibly friendless.

“Do you believe a flight to another planet and back could be made successfully in the Sphere so equipped?” he asked.

Robert considered carefully. He did, but the professor’s question renewed many doubts. Most of all, he hesitated to involve his would-be benefactor in a disastrous venture.

“I do,” he answered truthfully, at last.

“So do I,” supplemented the professor, stoutly, as if to help convince himself. “Would you be willing to undertake such a journey?” he asked suddenly, fixing his eyes keenly upon his host.

“Yes, sir!” responded Robert quickly.

His prompt reply and evident sincerity convinced Professor Palmer that he was in earnest. The professor had decided. Nothing risked, nothing gained. As for Robert, nine months of trench warfare in France had steeled him against fear of anything except women and the devil.

“It is settled, then,” concluded the professor, unconsciously authoritative. “You will come to my home, and together we will supervise the completion of the Sphere.”

“But the Sphere—,” began Robert, surprized by the professor’s quick decision.

“We will have it conveyed to my estate, where the light and space will be much better; and where I can look after you better, my boy.” His face softened. Ah, an old bachelor had not all the advantages. What would he not give to have a son like this!

Something about Robert’s hesitation reminded him abruptly of an important consideration.

“I am forgetting,” he apologized. “Your interest must be fully protected. We will draw up a contract whereby full possession of the Sphere and all its equipment, now and always, will remain yours. I will undertake to complete it, defraying all expenses, in return for which I ask the use of the Sphere in a flight to Mars and back if possible.”

“That is more than fair,” Robert replied, feeling ashamed of a shortlived, though natural, apprehension.

4

Robert found Professor Palmer’s homestead vastly more cheerful than his own gloomy quarters.

The Sphere was placed in a large, well-lighted barn, which had been carefully prepared for its new purpose. The barred windows were frosted to defeat the curiosity of possible busybodies, and reliable locks put on the heavy doors.

Removal of the Sphere from its original quarters presented difficulties, because no provision had been made for its exit. It had been constructed piece by piece inside the four walls which housed it so long. It was necessary to hew an opening through the wall, to the acute curiosity of the neighbors.

However, their curiosity went for naught, as a large tarpaulin and protecting crating disguised the object of their interest, which was removed at night. Professor Palmer and Robert were agreed in their decision to keep their project to themselves as much as possible until they had succeeded in perfecting the Sphere.

The hauling of the Sphere proved an extremely simple task. With the gyrostats running quietly at halfspeed, its weight was rendered to almost nothing. Nevertheless a large, heavy truck was provided for any emergencies. They wisely avoided any unnecessary chance of destroying, at the very beginning of their task, the intricate work of many painstaking years.

A small brick building was put up and the necessary machinery installed for the production of mythonite. Here the tedious process was soon directed by Robert. Eleven skilled metallurgists and chemists labored day after day under his supervision, without knowing for what purpose the curious metal they were producing was to be used.

Weeks passed, and vast quantities of waste material were hauled away daily; but the quantity of the precious mythonite accumulated with discouraging slowness. An addition was built adjoining the first plant, and the corps of experts increased to an even two dozen. By improving methods and increasing deftness, the former production was trebled.

Nevertheless, it soon became apparent that the desired quantity could not possibly be produced at the present rate within the period which Robert had estimated. The first month’s operation had resulted in but two small ingots, each an inch square and three inches long. This was before the plant was enlarged, however. This had been eventually increased to seven ingots a month. But even at this rate, it would require almost four years longer to produce a sufficient quantity. Obviously, the project was doomed to failure unless some means of greatly increasing the production could be devised.

It was four months after the completion of the original plant that Robert and Professor Palmer were discussing this matter with a view to deciding finally whether or not to abandon the project. During this time Professor Palmer had come to look upon Robert as a son. His untiring energy, his frank, cheerful personality and intelligence, had made a profound impression upon the professor.

“I am going to see this thing to a finish, Robert,” he was saying. “But if we are to take advantage of the next favorable apposition of Mars just eight months from now, we must make some radical improvement in our program. Not till fifteen years later will it again approach so close to the earth. Have you any new plans to suggest?”

“This,” replied Robert. “We might have the crushing and the crude processes done elsewhere. By concentrating upon the finer processes alone, we should be able to increase our production of mythonite considerably. But we should have to replace the crushing apparatus with additional equipment for the final processes. We must take advantage of every available bit of space and every man’s time.”

“Our total expenditures to date are what?”

“Approximately $33,000. But, the sales of excess platinum have reduced that to about $32,000.”

“Not so bad,” mused the professor. “However, it is clear that we can not reach our goal without a vastly greater rate of production.”

He knit his brows, pondering silently for a little while.

“Robert,” he broke out suddenly, “we’ve got to take a big gamble! We will not only follow out your suggestion, but we will double the present size of our plant.”

Robert gasped. He thought of the professor’s dwindling resources, wondering if he were suddenly gone mad.

“Why, that would bring the total cost round $60,000!” he cried.

“Quite so,” replied Professor Palmer, calmly; “but a four or five year program would be far more expensive—to say nothing of its impracticability. It’s win all or lose all, Robert.”

So the Palmer laboratories were enlarged and arrangements successfully made for the crushing and partial separating with a near-by rock plant. The little force of experts was augmented to thirty, and work began in earnest. The next month resulted in a production of forty-one ingots of mythonite!

The following month a minor improvement discovered in the process increased that month’s production to fifty ingots. Even this production was bettered somewhat during the following months. At the end of the sixth month after the enlargement of the plant the total production of mythonite had reached more than three hundred ingots—all that were required! A month remained in which to prepare for the great venture into the unknown.

It was with a feeling of overwhelming elation that Robert and the professor gazed upon the little stack of dull, silver-gray bars in the dusk of an early July twilight. Winter and spring had come and gone while they labored. These three hundred tiny ingots were the result. Not entirely, though; for in addition to a sufficient quantity of platinum reserved for their own requirements, the Palmer laboratories had produced and sold enough platinum to defray all expenses incurred. Little wonder that they felt elated.

Professor Palmer put his arm across Robert’s broad shoulders with fatherly tenderness.

“My boy,” he said, softly, “whatever the Sphere accomplishes, it has at least brought us together. To me, our perfect companionship has come to mean more than anything else. I did not realize what a lonely old man I was before you came.”

“Old man!” chided Robert. “Fifty-seven years young.”

“It is well for me that you had the Sphere to occupy you, or some sweet young vision would have taken you in hand ere now. But forgive an old codger’s selfishness, Robert.”

“Time enough to think about that, professor,” smiled Robert.

“Careful. Don’t let them make a bachelor out of you. An old bachelor is a superfluity for which no one really cares. Even an old maid has her cat.”

“Very well. We’ll each make love to a moon-maiden,” laughed Robert, and Professor Palmer joined him heartily.

The following day the small ingots were melted and forced into the big, flattish, circular, platinum-lined and studded mold. Before the pouring was attempted, the mold was securely fastened down as a precaution against the lifting power of the mythonite when freed from the earth’s gravity by the interruption of the platinum beneath it. As an additional precaution, a disk of platinum was suspended over the mass, thereby neutralizing the attraction of heavenly bodies.

With great care, the platinum-incased mass of mythonite was installed in the Sphere. A stout steel rod and universal joint connected it to the gyrostatic center, and the wiring and other details of its proper control were quickly completed. The petrol and oxygen tanks were partly filled, the gyrostats tuned up, and the Sphere at last was ready for a trial trip.

5

Henry Simms, much interested, but skeptical to the last, was shown the interior of the Sphere on the afternoon set for the first trial. He crawled through the manhole after Robert and the professor, firmly convinced that he was about to witness a flat failure of the Sphere for which the professor claimed so much. To do him justice, though, it should be stated that Henry’s expectations were not without keen sympathy for the disappointment to which he felt certain the professor was doomed.

“She looks more like a submarine than a blimp, professor,” was his first comment as they reached the main compartment.

Indeed, the interior of the Sphere, with its intricate mass of machinery and its bull’s-eye windows, its riveted partitions and curved walls, and the incandescent lamps, did suggest a typical underseas craft.

“She goes up, Henry, not down,” the professor laughed.

“Deal me out, then,” cried Henry. “I am not prepared to go up for keeps yet!”

“Rest easy,” said Robert. “It will be much easier to drop back, if in doubt, than to continue upward.”

Robert proceeded to explain the Sphere’s important features for Henry’s benefit.

“Here is the gage that registers the pull of the disk,” he said, finally, after having explained the rudiments of the Sphere’s operation. He indicated a dial attached to the rod which harnessed the powerful mythonite disk to the core of the Sphere.

He pushed the first of a row of switch buttons on the controller. Poor Henry’s heart fluttered as a faint scraping sound heralded the mere opening of one of the three cameralike platinum shutters over the mythonite disk’s highly magnetic surface. He was already regretting his consent to accompany them on a trial flight. The handle on the dial of the lifting gage suddenly raced from zero and steadied at 605 pounds. The Sphere remained at rest.

All three men were now keyed to the highest pitch of excitement. This was the first time the completed apparatus had been tested, and upon its results depended entirely the success of the Sphere and its remarkable project planned by the professor.

The registered tension on the strong steel arm removed all doubt from the minds of Robert and Professor Palmer regarding the success of mythonite as a practical power of propulsion. A feeling of wild exultation gripped them both.

“Danger from shock of sudden great pull is avoided by gradual uncovering of the disk’s surface,” resumed Robert as he pushed the next button, sending the hand on the dial up to 1,420. The third button swung it to 3,475, accompanied by a slight tremor perceptible in the floor of the Sphere. Their startled glances through the nearest porthole satisfied them, however, that the Sphere still rested on terra firma.

Robert pushed all three of the corresponding row of buttons directly over the first three, and the hand again registered zero.

“I don’t want to lift the roof off your barn, professor,” exclaimed Robert. “I’ll start the gyrostats now to neutralize the Sphere’s weight, and we will get out and push it outside the stable.”

A few minutes later the now thoroughly convinced Henry watched his companions disappear within the Sphere’s shell while he debated with himself as to whether he should follow them. A moment later Professor Palmer appeared at a porthole and beckoned him; but Henry shook his head vehemently.

The professor unlatched the window and swung it open.

“Hurry in, Henry,” he called. “Voyage is about to commence.”

“Not I, professor! This suits me real well, right out here.”

“Come on, Henry,” the professor urged. “You aren’t afraid?”

“Not afraid—just a little bit careful. I’m just beginning to find out how nice and solid this ground feels. I’ll watch you do it.”

And no amount of urging would change his mind. He politely but firmly maintained that he felt much healthier outside.

“Stubborn chap, that,” the professor commented to Robert. “Can’t say that I blame him, though.”

“Simply a difference in the values we set on our own carcasses,” suggested Robert. “Henry just takes his more seriously than we.”

They laughed. Both, somehow, felt relieved afterward. Henry had furnished a welcome diversion. The former nervous tension was broken.

“Well, so long, old man,” Robert called out the window, as he prepared to close it.

“Give my regards to Saint Peter,” shouted Henry.

“Cheerful cuss,” contributed the professor, as the heavy glass slammed shut.

Robert stopped the gyrostats.

A deep silence reigned within the heavy walls as he examined carefully the delicate machinery upon which so much depended. Then he pulled the lever, setting them in motion again. Their steady purr was a relief from the oppressive silence.

Professor Palmer’s keen eyes followed him as he moved about. Robert’s excitement of the previous minutes was forgotten as he expertly, almost lovingly, ran his eyes over every detail of the perfect, whirring machinery, most of which his father had produced. His throat contracted strangely as his thoughts dwelt for a moment on his beloved parent. His mother he could scarcely remember, for she had died when he was but a baby of three years. But his father had been his constant companion—his pal. What would he not have given to have him standing by him at this moment, on the eve of his triumph, of the realization of his dreams!

Being a shrewd judge of human nature, the professor rightly guessed his thoughts at that moment. A suspicious moisture in Robert’s eyes confirmed his guess.

Robert’s next move was to adjust the direction of the disk’s covered face toward the zenith. The gyrostats were revolving smoothly. With bated breath, he again pushed the button which partly bared the disk.

The Sphere gave a slight lurch. This was followed by a sensation like that felt in an elevator rising suddenly. A faint shout from below. With one impulse Robert’s and the professor’s glances swept eagerly through the ports.

There they saw just what they had expected to see; but the actuality affected them curiously. Oddly enough, they had subconsciously expected till the last moment that the Sphere would fail.

The landscape seemed to be dropping from under them. Even the horizon was receding alarmingly.

Robert’s hand shot out to the control board, closing the disk’s surface. A slight tremor evidenced the abrupt cessation of the disk’s pull.

“Six thousand feet,” read Professor Palmer from the altimeter.

Robert joined him. A few minutes later it registered seven thousand. They were still rising, but not nearly so rapidly as before. The closing of the disk had checked their speed at once.

“A little more and I’d have boosted her right off the earth,” said Robert, breathlessly. “I’ll have to use the disk more sparingly on ordinary sight-seeing excursions hereafter.”

“You had it opened only to first power, too, hadn’t you?”

“Yes; and without the ‘juice’ turned on. Jove! We didn’t realize how much reserve power of propulsion we had. It’s well that I experimented first with the minimum. And the current almost quadruples the magnetism of mythonite! Phew!”

Robert paused and read the altimeter again. Eight thousand. He gripped the gyrostatic control, and carefully moved it to half speed.

The Sphere seemed to pause a moment, then they could detect its beginning to settle earthward as the neutralization of gravity was modified. Six thousand; five thousand; they were dropping steadily at a rate of nearly a thousand feet a minute.

Robert shoved the lever back to full speed and the Sphere’s downward momentum was quickly checked. With the disk safely throttled, the Sphere became as a rubber balloon. They merely drifted in midair.

Together they peered through the observation well in the floor. Through this they could plainly see the landscape, some three thousand feet below, sliding by sluggishly as they drifted with the light air current. From the side ports they could discern the big Palmer homestead and the laboratories about a mile and a half to the west of them. It was an ideal day for observation. The sky was cloudless, and the air of crystal clearness.

“Well, professor, shall we run back to our stall, or take a little sight-seeing jaunt?” queried Robert.

“Let’s see some of the country, by all means,” decided the professor, his face aglow with boyish excitement and anticipation.

“All right; here goes,” Robert sang out as he deflected the disk to a horizontal position, pointing due north.

The next instant he switched open the first shutter from the disk’s surface. There was a jerk, and the landscape suddenly began slipping away to the south with accelerating speed. Another click, and their speed was further increased. Once more the switch clicked, releasing the last shutter from over the disk. The Sphere seemed literally to leap ahead. A muffled roar without indicated the great speed at which they were rushing through the air.

Town after town flashed by beneath them with astonishing rapidity. The fact that they were flying at a comparatively low altitude made their speed seem terrific. Robert wisely decided to seek a safer height. He elevated the disk several degrees and the Sphere promptly soared higher. At eight thousand feet he checked its upward trend.

Far away to the east they could see a solitary big biplane bound in the same direction as they—probably a fast mail express; but it was quickly left behind, and lost from view in the afternoon haze.

For twenty minutes they roared northward. Then, to their surprize, a vast body of water appeared against the horizon ahead.

“Lake Erie!” gasped Robert, after a moment’s reflection. “Two hundred miles in less than half an hour. Why—that’s about five hundred miles an hour! And without the aid of electric magnetization of the disk!”

“Marvelous!” exclaimed the professor, enthusiastically.

Already they were soaring over the expanse of water. On the horizon the distant Canadian shore was rapidly taking shape. Beneath them several long, slim lake craft could be discerned, crawling at what appeared, from so great a height, to be a snail’s pace. No doubt the Sphere would have presented a much more curious sight to those below had its luminous gray shell been more than a faint speck against the brilliant, cloudless sky.

It was at this juncture that Robert’s alert ears detected a subtle change in the hitherto soft whir of the gyrostats.

“What is it, Robert?” whispered Professor Palmer, as he observed Robert’s suddenly tense attitude.

“Wait!” anxiously.

Outside, the muffled roar sounded in strange contrast to the still air within. The bright sunshine streamed across the gray door in mock cheerfulness. A single captive fly buzzed drowzily against a windowpane.

These commonplace details registered on Robert’s mind indelibly in those fleeting seconds as he listened with palpitating heart for he knew not what.

Taking his cue from Robert, Professor Palmer was listening with equal intensity to the drone of the machinery upon which their lives depended. Even he could now detect the change. The drone was gradually, unmistakably, decreasing in volume. The gyrostats were stopping!

Unconsciously they gripped each other’s hands an instant as they realized the seriousness of their plight. Should the gyrostats stop, the Sphere would plunge to its doom!

Frantically Robert tortured his mind for a possible solution, or a reason for the unexpected interruption. The altimeter already indicated that they were falling at a steadily increasing speed. The formerly tiny ships below were no longer tiny. The water seemed to be rushing toward them at a terrific rate. Robert remembered afterward a sudden inane conjecture as to how big a splash they would make.

It was at this moment his numbed senses returned to him. Cursing himself silently for a rattle-brained idiot, he spun the wheel madly, thus adjusting the vertical position of the disk. To his tortured mind it seemed an eternity before it finally pointed toward the zenith.

Their downward rush was noticeably checked, but the lift of the disk was not equal to the weight of the Sphere. They continued to fall at a dangerous rate. The altimeter registered but two thousand feet!

Fully recovered now from his former temporary inertia, Robert jammed over the switch which connected the disk to the powerful storage batteries. This was the reserve that he had not ventured to utilize before. Thus the lift of the Sphere should have been increased more than four-fold, and its descent checked at once.

As the switch swung over, the gyrostats stopped completely. In a flash the explanation of it all occurred to Robert. The batteries were exhausted!

6

The world was rudely shaken from its customary lethargy.

Having lapsed into a monotonous, smooth-running order of events, the public had long since resigned itself to such. Not since the Great War had newspapers had such an opportunity. Even the steady development of trans-Atlantic and trans-continental air traffic had become commonplace.

Of the myriad readers, perhaps none was so keenly interested in the article which appeared on the front page of every paper in the United States on the morning of the eighteenth as Henry Simms.

Since the Sphere had disappeared from his astonished gaze the day before, he had anxiously awaited its return. As hour after hour passed, his fears for its little crew of two grew proportionately. He had little faith in the curious invention to which the professor and his companion had entrusted their lives.

So it was with little spirit that Henry sat down to his breakfast that morning at the Palmer homestead, where he lived. He picked up the morning paper listlessly, hoping it might contain some report of the Sphere. He feared that if it did contain such news, it would be fatal news. Henry was a pessimist.

The big heading escaped his notice at first because he was looking for some smaller notice regarding the Sphere and its failure to return. Then suddenly it caught his eye. Breathlessly he devoured it.

SENSATION
CAUSED BY FLYING SPHERE

Curious Metal Blimp Seen Floating Above Lake Vessels’ Mast Tops

STRANGE NEW AIR TRIUMPH
Heavier than air machine with no visible means of ascension or propulsion possesses marvelous speed

(Special Dispatch to the Morning Chronicle)

ERIE, Pa., July 18.—The freighter, “Mary Ann”, arriving here tonight, reported a remarkable incident.

About 4 o’clock this afternoon a member of the crew descried a small speck over the southern horizon. This speck grew in size rapidly until it became apparent that it was not only approaching the “Mary Ann”, but falling with great velocity from its former immense height. It looked to be a large grayish globe.

During the ensuing moments, it seemed as if a huge cannon ball were launched directly at the vessel. Her destruction seemed certain. Consternation seized the crew and officers, who, by this time, were all aware of the pending disaster.

At a critical moment, however, the big ball was seen to slacken in its downward rush, until finally it hung suspended in the air directly above the mast tops, drifting slowly astern.

At this close range several round windows could be seen in the heavily riveted walls of the sphere. A glimpse of the operator was caught as he busily maneuvered divers levers.

Although evidently of considerable weight, and without visible means of support or propulsion, the sphere seemed to float in midair as lightly as a balloon. It appeared to be nearly thirty feet in diameter.

Suddenly a deep humming was heard. A moment later the sphere rose with gathering speed until it appeared to have reached a height of about half a mile. Then it shot abruptly off toward the south at great speed, disappearing rapidly over the horizon.

While this was of great interest to Henry, it but served to increase his uneasiness. He could think of no good reason for the failure of the Sphere to return from its trial trip but a fatal reoccurrence of the mechanical trouble suggested in the freighter’s report.

It was at this point in Henry’s gloomy reflections that a hearty laugh outside startled him. The professor!

A moment later Robert and Professor Palmer entered. Both were in fine spirits.

“Should have been along, Henry,” boomed the professor. “Missed the time of your young life.”

“Been reading about it,” Henry replied, tapping the paper. “Were you really trying to drop into the lake, or couldn’t you help it?”

“Fast work, Robert,” laughed the professor, as together they read over the article; “private trial trip in the afternoon—front page headlines next morning! Not so bad, eh?”

“Just missed the freighter,” gasped Robert. “We didn’t have a chance to see her until we had checked our drop and drifted off astern. Phew!”

“Never mind,” soothed the professor. “Can’t be helped now. Anyway, they will probably conclude that we were merely playing with them.”

His mood would not be denied. He seemed more like a boy at that moment than a dignified professor of fifty-seven.

“You folks seem to have had a dull trip,” remarked Henry, ironically. “Where were you last night?”

“Must we tell you? Had you accepted our invitation, you’d know,” retorted the professor. “Man, don’t ask us so many questions. We’re as hungry as wolves.”

They sat down before the appetizing, crisply fried bacon, and eggs that Jarvis, the peerless, smiling butler had brought in.

“It was this way, Henry,” resumed the professor, after he had partly satisfied the inner man: “Robert and I didn’t expect to be gone long, and unfortunately failed to take any provisions along. Had it not been for a cake of chocolate in Robert’s pocket, which we shared, we should have had nothing to eat since we left.”

“But you haven’t told me where you were last night,” persisted Henry.

“Tell him, Robert.”

“Well, after we ran out of power because the storage batteries had not been fully charged, and narrowly missed sinking that freighter, we had just enough current left to suspend the Sphere in midair. Then we started the engines driving the dynamos, and soon had sufficient power to start back. But boy! It was a close shave.” Robert paused reminiscently.

“We started back, but changed our minds and decided to see some more of the country first. You see, at five hundred or more miles an hour, it is quite a temptation to look around a bit.”

Henry’s countenance registered a curious combination of astonishment and disbelief.

“Fact,” put in Professor Palmer. “Could have done much better than that, but didn’t want to heat up the Sphere uncomfortably by excessive air friction.”

Henry looked very much as if he thought he might be the victim of a little spoofing. Such wild claims, uttered so coolly, confused him and aroused his natural skepticism.

Robert resumed his narrative, with a touch of pardonable pride. Behind him Jarvis stood spellbound, mouth half open, drinking in every word.

“So we flew over to New York, Boston and Baltimore, and looked them over. Great sport. We became so interested that twilight was upon us before we had given it a thought.

“It was pretty dark by the time we got back this way. We forgot, too, that the sun is visible considerably longer from a great height than it is from the earth’s surface.

“The result was that we could not find our way back here in the dark, without lights to guide us. So after a fruitless attempt, we gave up and landed in a large field. There we stayed until dawn, when, upon ascending again, we discovered that we were only a couple of miles from here.”

“Moral: Carry a searchlight, and ye shall find,” contributed the professor.

“And some sandwiches,” added Robert, returning to his interrupted attack upon the bacon and eggs.

7

The following weeks were crowded ones for the Palmer household. The account of the Sphere and the activities at the laboratories were quickly connected by the sharp newspaper world, and acknowledged by Professor Palmer.

A deluge of newspaper reporters followed. The first were a diversion; the rest quickly became a nuisance. Once more did journalistic imagination run wild. Though both Robert and the professor refused to commit themselves on the subject, the Palmer-Margard feud was revived, colored with a wealth of imaginary data concerning prospective trips to Mars in the Sphere.

The Sphere was photographed and sketched countless times, as were Professor Palmer and Robert. Even Henry came in for a share of publicity.

But the professor had long since determined to attempt the trip to Mars in the Sphere. With this in mind he set about mastering the intricacies of its apparatus.

The prospect of venturing into the unknown regions beyond the Earth’s attraction is not one that appeals to the faint-hearted. Even Professor Palmer frequently had moments of indecision when he all but decided to drop the project. It would be so easy, reasoned his weaker self, to drop the matter entirely. The Sphere’s scope on the Earth was sufficient to make them both a vast fortune, and to bring them great fame.

Nevertheless, he remained stedfast in his decision in spite of the advice and warnings of his friends, which were anything but reassuring. He was willing to be a martyr for the possible enlightenment of the world.

It was Robert, though, who strengthened the professor’s determination, for he insisted upon accompanying him on the unusual journey.

“I am but an old man, Robert,” Professor Palmer argued, “while you are a young man in your prime, with a long, promising career before you. The chances of the Sphere’s reaching Mars safely and returning, in spite of its remarkable powers, are extremely uncertain. Who knows what strange phenomena it may encounter in the depths of space? Suppose its apparatus should fail midway. Think of the fate that may await us. Even if we reached Mars, and found it inhabited with intelligent beings, how do we know we should be permitted to return? Take my advice, my boy, and remain here. You may lose the Sphere, but you know its principle, and have proved its practicability. You can command the services of the world’s best mechanical skill in the rapid construction of another Sphere, and still others. In addition, I shall leave you my entire estate and possessions.”

Robert was deeply moved by Professor Palmer’s concern over him and by his generosity.

“You have been very good to me,” he said. “I appreciate it deeply. But I am going with you. We will share the dangers together, and together we will also share the glory of achievement. I believe we are going to succeed.”

And so, with these two declarations was sealed the pact of partnership which was to carry them together on the perilous journey.

When their final intention of attempting to reach Mars was announced, the journalistic world fairly seethed with excitement. Every magazine issue contained portraits of Robert and Professor Palmer, accompanied by cuts of the Sphere and the professor’s latest maps and photographs of the red planet. Never had any human undertaking even mildly approached theirs in magnitude. They were hailed as the heroes of the hour.

It was agreed that the secrets of the Sphere were to be set down and placed in a safety deposit box with a certain great trust company, to be opened and read only in case Robert and the professor failed to return after two years’ time. Thus, the world could not lose the secret of this remarkable invention.

Professor Margard, at this point, proved that his opposition to Professor Palmer’s theories was entirely impersonal. In published interviews, he highly commended his worthy contemporary’s courage, as well as that of his companion; but he deplored the dangerous project in the face of what he considered conclusive evidence against the possible existence of inhabitants on Mars. “Misdirected courage; misplaced martrydom,” he termed their intentions.

“Misdirected fiddlesticks,” snorted Professor Palmer when he read this. “We’ll show these people a thing or two.”

Two weeks were devoted to final preparations for the remarkable adventure. A powerful, adjustable searchlight had now been installed within a socket in the bottom of the Sphere to facilitate night travel and landings in the future. Petrol tanks were filled to capacity, and a supply of water taken on, some of which would be used in the cooling coils of the engines. A liberal quantity of life-giving oxygen was forced into the high-pressure tanks. Without this to constantly freshen the air within the Sphere, they could not live, as, after passing beyond the Earth’s envelope of atmosphere into the void of space, they would have no means of replenishing their air supply. A small supply of nitrogen was also added as a precaution against the total loss of the little ball of atmosphere guarded by the walls of the Sphere.

While oxygen had to be replenished as their respiration consumed it, the supply of nitrogen would remain virtually the same except for a slight seepage through the sealed walls when the protecting pressure of the Earth’s atmosphere was removed. The atmospheric pressure within the Sphere would be about fifteen pounds to the square inch, with the absolute vacuum of space hungrily enveloping the exterior. An apparatus for absorbing the carbonic acid gas thrown off by their lungs was also a part of the Sphere’s equipment.

Robert tinkered about the Sphere, constantly inspecting every part with painstaking care. The resilient rubber window strips, insuring against the loss of the precious atmosphere, were looked to with especial care. The heavy glass panes were examined minutely for possible signs of fracture, or flaws. Such a defect would prove disastrous if it should give way under the pressure within when they were in space. They would then be placed in a vacuum in which no living body can exist. So sudden would such a disaster be that they would have no opportunity, nor means, of saving themselves. All windows, however, were equipped with double panes for safety as well as warmth. They were also fitted outside with guards of heavy wire net.

The lubricating reservoirs of the gyrostats were filled carefully; the bearings were cleaned perfectly. Engines were tuned, and, in short, every bit of mechanism was tested and regulated to a point of perfection.

On the first day of August everything was in readiness for the start of the momentous journey.

Provisions, chiefly of the non-perishable and concentrated variety, had been generously stored in the Sphere’s food chests. There was a sufficient quantity to last them for months.

Although the world at large understood that the Sphere would start on its trip about this time, Robert and the professor had decided to withhold information as to the exact day or hour of their departure. Neither one desired a public demonstration. In spite of the pleas of divers reporters who besieged them, they refused to divulge the time set for their departure.

As the last day of their stay on Earth approached, Robert was torn by conflicting emotions. At one moment the venture stood forth in all its glory of achievement and adventure; the next, with appalling realization of its vastness, its unknown terrors. From time immemorial, man has instinctively dreaded the unknown, and Robert was plainly afraid. But, though the possibility of backing out did naturally occur to him with devilish persistence, he always rejected it promptly, determinedly. He would not countenance the thought of deserting the professor.

It had finally been decided to start on the following day, the second of the month.

Anxious reporters hovered about the place, each eager to make a “scoop” for his own paper. The more enterprising tried to wheedle some information out of Henry or the taciturn Jasper.

“Now, young mon, ye’ll kindly bate it. I’ve no time to bother with the likes of ye,” the good-natured but sorely bothered Jarvis finally told them, one after another, as they approached him.

Henry, equally annoyed, decided upon cunning.

“I’m not certain,” he was repeating, confidentially, for the third time that day, “but I understand that they plan starting on the sly tomorrow night.”

The young reporter with the brilliant red hair listened with apparently keen interest. He thanked the secretary politely, and departed. But a curious smile on his face as he turned away would not have exactly reassured Henry had he seen it. Evidently the redhead retained some ideas of his own. His sharp, intelligent features did not give him the appearance of one easily fooled by subterfuge.

And indeed he was not. Hugh Taggert had a trait of always trying to out-think the other fellow—and he usually succeeded. Probably it was this that had made him the most valuable man on the Morning Chronicle’s staff of reporters.

That the secretary had tried to mislead him Taggert felt certain. But as to when the Sphere was scheduled to start, he knew no more than before. However, Henry’s statement had a significance which suggested something to his alert mind. The night start did not seem unlikely, but that a man of the character he keenly judged Henry Simms to be should readily give his employer’s secret plans away, did seem unlikely. He determined not only to redouble his vigilance, but to remain on watch that very night instead of waiting for the next night.

Henry’s mistake was in mentioning anything about night at all. His idea, of course, was merely to induce the troublesome reporters to lose a whole night’s sleep uselessly.

As a matter of fact, it mattered little to Robert and the professor whether their departure was observed or not. It simply amused them to evade the persistence of their besiegers if they could.

8

Despite their determination, and the intense interest in their great project, it was with many secret misgivings that Robert and Professor Palmer stood without the improvised hangar on that memorable night. They were about to embark on the strangest journey that man had ever attempted.

Henry Simms alone accompanied them to see them off. Till the last he had tried to persuade them to abandon the dangerous project, but without avail.

To Robert, the stars had never seemed quite so brilliant, the night so bewitching. The very air seemed to have a special tang and sweetness which he had never before noticed. The myriad sounds of the night possessed a magic power of enchantment over him. He caught himself wondering inconsequently whether he should ever again hear the soothing voice of the crickets and other denizens of the summer twilight; whether such sounds might be heard on Mars if they reached it.

Quietly they took leave of Henry and filed into the Sphere. The trap slammed shut, and Robert and the professor were enveloped in the dead, black silence of the Sphere’s interior. It was at this point that Robert’s resolution reached its ebb. Had Professor Palmer turned to him at that moment and again begged him to remain safely on Earth, he could not have resisted the temptation.

Never had a glow of light seemed so comforting as that which flooded the Sphere a moment later. The temptation of the previous minutes fled. In its place Robert felt only an eagerness to be on his way. Nevertheless, when they had mounted to the main compartment, he opened one of the windows and leaned out, thirstily drinking in deep breaths of the keen night air.