The Land of the Changing Sun [11]
leaf is moving, and yet every breath I draw is as fresh as if it came from a mountain- top. Did you ever see such flowers as those? Look at that ocean of orchids."
"They think we are a regular monkey-show," grumbled the American. "Look how the crowd is gaping and shoving and fighting for places to see us."
"It's your legs they want to behold, old fellow. Do you know I never knew you had such knotty knee-joints; did you ever have rheumatism? I wish I had 'em; they wouldn't put me to death--they would make me the chief attraction in the royal museum." Thorndyke concluded his jest with a laugh, but the face of his friend did not brighten.
"You bet that medical examination meant something serious," he said.
"Pooh!" and the Englishman slapped his friend playfully on the shoulder.
"Since I have seen that vast crowd of well-developed people, and remember what that medicine man said, I have made up my mind that we are going to be separated." Poor Johnston's lip was quivering.
"Rubbish! but there comes the captain; put on a bold front; talk up New York; tell 'em about Chicago and the Fair, and ask to be allowed to ride in their Ferris Wheel--if they ain't got no wheel, ask 'em when the first train leaves town."
"This is no time for jokes," growled Johnston, as Tradmos returned. Tradmos motioned to something that in the distance looked like a carriage, but which turned out to be a flying machine. It rose gracefully and glided over the ground and settled at their feet. It was large enough to seat a dozen people, and there was a little glass-windowed compartment at the end in which they could see "the driver," as he was termed by Tradmos. The mysterious machinery was hidden in the woodwork overhead and beneath.
"Get in," said the captain, and the door flew open as if of its own accord. Thorndyke went in first and was followed by the moody American. "Let up on the ague," jested Thorndyke, nudging his friend with his elbow; "if you keep on quivering like that you may shake the thing loose from its moorings and we'd never know what became of us."
Johnston scowled, and the officer, who had overheard the remark, smiled as he leaned toward the window and gave some directions to the man in the other compartment.
"You both take it rather coolly," he remarked to Thorndyke. "I took a man and a woman over this route several years ago and both of them were in a dead faint; but, in fact, you have nothing to fear. We never have accidents."
"It is as safe as a balloon, I suppose, and we are at home in them," said the Englishman, with just the hint of a swagger in his tone.
"But your balloons are poor, primitive things at best," returned Tradmos in his soft voice. "They can't be compared to this mode of travel, though, of course, our machines would not operate in your atmosphere."
"Why not?" impulsively asked the Englishman. "I thought----"
But he did not conclude his remark, for they were rising, and both he and Johnston leaned apprehensively forward and looked out of one of the windows. Down below the long lines of people were silently waving their hats, scarfs and handkerchiefs as the machine swept along over their heads. As they rose higher the scene below widened like a great circular fan, and in the delicate roselight, the whole so appealed to Thorndyke's artistic sense that he ejaculated:
"Glorious! Superb! Transcendent!" and he directed Johnston's attention to the wonderful pinkish haze which lay over the view toward the west like a vast diaphanous web of rosy sunbeams.
"You ask why our air-ships would not operate in your atmosphere," said the captain, showing pleasure at Thorndyke's enthusiasm. "It is simple enough when you have studied the climatic differences between the two countries. You have much to contend with--the winds, for instance, the heat and cold, etc.; this is the only known country where the winds are subjugated. I have never been in your world, but from what I have heard of it I am not anxious to see it. Your atmosphere and climate are so changeable and so diverse in different
"They think we are a regular monkey-show," grumbled the American. "Look how the crowd is gaping and shoving and fighting for places to see us."
"It's your legs they want to behold, old fellow. Do you know I never knew you had such knotty knee-joints; did you ever have rheumatism? I wish I had 'em; they wouldn't put me to death--they would make me the chief attraction in the royal museum." Thorndyke concluded his jest with a laugh, but the face of his friend did not brighten.
"You bet that medical examination meant something serious," he said.
"Pooh!" and the Englishman slapped his friend playfully on the shoulder.
"Since I have seen that vast crowd of well-developed people, and remember what that medicine man said, I have made up my mind that we are going to be separated." Poor Johnston's lip was quivering.
"Rubbish! but there comes the captain; put on a bold front; talk up New York; tell 'em about Chicago and the Fair, and ask to be allowed to ride in their Ferris Wheel--if they ain't got no wheel, ask 'em when the first train leaves town."
"This is no time for jokes," growled Johnston, as Tradmos returned. Tradmos motioned to something that in the distance looked like a carriage, but which turned out to be a flying machine. It rose gracefully and glided over the ground and settled at their feet. It was large enough to seat a dozen people, and there was a little glass-windowed compartment at the end in which they could see "the driver," as he was termed by Tradmos. The mysterious machinery was hidden in the woodwork overhead and beneath.
"Get in," said the captain, and the door flew open as if of its own accord. Thorndyke went in first and was followed by the moody American. "Let up on the ague," jested Thorndyke, nudging his friend with his elbow; "if you keep on quivering like that you may shake the thing loose from its moorings and we'd never know what became of us."
Johnston scowled, and the officer, who had overheard the remark, smiled as he leaned toward the window and gave some directions to the man in the other compartment.
"You both take it rather coolly," he remarked to Thorndyke. "I took a man and a woman over this route several years ago and both of them were in a dead faint; but, in fact, you have nothing to fear. We never have accidents."
"It is as safe as a balloon, I suppose, and we are at home in them," said the Englishman, with just the hint of a swagger in his tone.
"But your balloons are poor, primitive things at best," returned Tradmos in his soft voice. "They can't be compared to this mode of travel, though, of course, our machines would not operate in your atmosphere."
"Why not?" impulsively asked the Englishman. "I thought----"
But he did not conclude his remark, for they were rising, and both he and Johnston leaned apprehensively forward and looked out of one of the windows. Down below the long lines of people were silently waving their hats, scarfs and handkerchiefs as the machine swept along over their heads. As they rose higher the scene below widened like a great circular fan, and in the delicate roselight, the whole so appealed to Thorndyke's artistic sense that he ejaculated:
"Glorious! Superb! Transcendent!" and he directed Johnston's attention to the wonderful pinkish haze which lay over the view toward the west like a vast diaphanous web of rosy sunbeams.
"You ask why our air-ships would not operate in your atmosphere," said the captain, showing pleasure at Thorndyke's enthusiasm. "It is simple enough when you have studied the climatic differences between the two countries. You have much to contend with--the winds, for instance, the heat and cold, etc.; this is the only known country where the winds are subjugated. I have never been in your world, but from what I have heard of it I am not anxious to see it. Your atmosphere and climate are so changeable and so diverse in different