{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_17964/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_17964","id":"gutenberg_17964","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/17964","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Humour","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Novels","Category: Science-Fiction & Fantasy","Mythology, Classical -- Humor"],"text":"Produced by Paul Good, Suzanne Shell and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Note: Text that was printed in italics in the original\ndocument is shown between _underscore characters_ and the oe ligature\nis shown as [oe].\n\n\n[Illustration: BRANCH OFFICE OF MAMMON & CO.]\n\n\n\n\n\n                         OLYMPIAN NIGHTS\n\n                                by\n\n                       JOHN KENDRICK BANGS\n\n               Author of \"A House-Boat on the Styx\"\n                 \"The Pursuit of the House-Boat\"\n                   \"The Enchanted Type-writer\"\n                            Etc. Etc.\n\n                         [Illustration]\n\n                       New York and London\n                   Harper & Brothers Publishers\n\n                              1902\n\n\n\n\n                        HARPER & BROTHERS.\n\n                      Published June, 1902.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\nCHAP.                                                PAGE\n\nI.     I REACH MOUNT OLYMPUS                            1\n\nII.    I SEEK SHELTER AND FIND IT                      17\n\nIII.   THE ELEVATOR BOY                                33\n\nIV.    I SUMMON A VALET                                53\n\nV.     THE OLYMPIAN LINKS                              70\n\nVI.    IN THE DINING-ROOM                              88\n\nVII.   AESCULAPIUS, M.D.                               110\n\nVIII.  AT THE ZOO                                     131\n\nIX.    SOME ACCOUNT OF THE PALACE OF JUPITER          155\n\nX.     AN EXTRAORDINARY INTERVIEW                     175\n\nXI.    A ROYAL OUTING                                 192\n\nXII.   I AM DISMISSED                                 212\n\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\nBRANCH OFFICE OF MAMMON & CO.              _Frontispiece_\n\nHIPPOPOPOLIS EXPLAINS                      _Facing p._  8\n\nA DREAM OF BRIGANDAGE                           \"      22\n\nIN THE ELEVATOR                                 \"      30\n\n\"'THE GODDESS OF THE MOTHER-IN-LAW'\"            \"      42\n\n\"ANYTHING COULD BE GOT FOR THE RINGING\"         \"      60\n\n\"JUPITER HURLED A THUNDER-BOLT AT HIM\"          \"      64\n\nTHE OLYMPIAN LINKS                              \"      84\n\nCARING FOR THE CALVES                           \"     104\n\n\"'THEN YOU MUST DIE'\"                           \"     112\n\nI VISIT AESCULAPIUS                              \"     118\n\nCALLISTO                                        \"     140\n\nI MEET THE PH[OE]NIX                            \"     150\n\n\"'THE CHAMPIONSHIP OF THE UNIVERSE'\"            \"     166\n\n\"THE DOOR WAS LOCKED\"                           \"     180\n\n\"'WHAT?' I CRIED. 'I--THAT OLD MAN--WE'\"        \"     190\n\n\n\n\nOLYMPIAN NIGHTS\n\n\n\n\nI\n\nI Reach Mount Olympus\n\n\nWhile travelling through the classic realms of Greece some years ago,\nsincerely desirous of discovering the lurking-place of a certain war\nwhich the newspapers of my own country were describing with some\nvividness, I chanced upon the base of the far-famed Mount Olympus.\nNight was coming on apace and I was tired, having been led during the\nday upon a wild-goose chase by my guide, who had assured me that he\nhad definitely located the scene of hostilities between the Greeks\nand the Turks. He had promised that for a consideration I should\nwitness a conflict between the contending armies which in its\nsanguinary aspects should surpass anything the world had yet known.\nWhether or not it so happened that the armies had been booked for a\npublic exhibition elsewhere, unknown to the talented bandit who was\nacting as my courier, I am not aware, but, as the event transpired,\nthe search was futile, and another day was wasted. Most annoying, too,\nwas the fact that I dared not manifest the impatience which I\nnaturally felt. I am not remarkable as a specimen of the strong man;\nquite the reverse indeed, for, while I am by no means a weakling, I am\nno adept in the fistic art. Hence, when my guide, Hippopopolis by\nname, as the sun sank behind the western hills, informed me that I\nwas again to be disappointed, the fact that he stands six feet two in\nhis stockings, when he wears them, and has a pleasing way of bending\ncrowbars as a pastime, led me to conceal the irritation which I felt.\n\n\"It's all right, Hippopopolis,\" I said, swallowing my wrath. \"It's all\nright. We've had a good bit of exercise, anyhow, and that, after all,\nis the chief desideratum to a man of a sedentary occupation. How many\nmiles have we walked?\"\n\n\"Oh, about forty-three,\" he said, calmly. \"A short distance, your\nExcellency.\"\n\n\"Very--very short,\" said I, rubbing my aching calves. \"In my own\ncountry I make a practice of walking at least a hundred every day.\nIt's quite a pleasing stroll from my home in New York over to\nPhiladelphia and back. I hope I shall be able to show it you some\nday.\"\n\n\"It will be altogether charming, Excellency,\" said he. \"Shall\nwe--ah--walk back to Athens now, or would you prefer to rest here for\nthe night?\"\n\n\"I--I guess I'll stay here, Hippopopolis,\" I replied. \"This seems to\nbe a very comfortable sort of a mountain in front of us, and the air\nis soft. Suppose we rest in the soothing shade for the night? It would\nbe quite an adventure.\"\n\n\"As your Excellency wishes,\" he replied, tossing a bowlder into the\nair and catching it with ease as it came down. \"It is not often done,\nbut it is for you to say.\"\n\n\"What mountain is it, Hippopopolis?\" I asked, turning and gazing at\nthe eminence before us.\n\n\"It is Mount Olympus,\" he answered.\n\n\"What?\" I cried. \"Not the home of the gods?\"\n\n\"The very same, your Excellency,\" he acquiesced. \"At least, that is\nthe report. It is commonly stated hereabouts that the god-trust has\nits headquarters here. As for myself, I have explored its every nook\nand cranny, but I never saw any gods on it. It's my private opinion\nthat they've moved away; though there be those who claim that it is\nstill occupied by the former rulers of destiny living incog. like\nother well-born rogues who desire to avoid notoriety.\"\n\nHippopopolis is a decided democrat in his views, and has less respect\nfor the King than he has for the peasant.\n\n\"I shouldn't call them rogues exactly,\" I ventured. \"Some of 'em were\na pretty respectable lot. There was Apollo and old Jupiter himself,\nand--\"\n\n\"Oh, you can't tell me anything about them,\" retorted Hippopopolis. \"I\nhaven't been born and bred in this country for nothing, your\nExcellency. They were a bad lot all through. Shall I prepare your\nsupper?\"\n\n\"If you please, Hippopopolis,\" said I, throwing myself down beneath a\nhuge tree and giving myself up to the reveries of the moment. I did\nnot deem it well to interpose too strongly between Hippopopolis and\nhis views of the immortals just then. He had always a glitter in his\neye when any one ventured to controvert his assertions which made a\ndebate with him a thing to be apprehended. Still, I did not exactly\nlike to yield, for, to tell the truth, the Olympian folk have always\ninterested me hugely, and, while I would not of course endorse any one\nof them for a high public trust in these days, I have admired them for\ntheir many remarkable qualities.\n\n\"Of course,\" said I, reverting to the question a few moments later, as\nHippopopolis opened a box of sardines and set the bread a-toasting on\nthe fire he had made. \"Of course, I should not venture to say that I,\na stranger, know as much about the private habits of the gods as do\nyou, who have been their neighbor; but that they are rogues is news to\nme.\"\n\n\"That may be, too,\" said Hippopopolis. \"People are often thought more\nof by strangers than by their own fellow-townsmen. Even you, sir, I\nmight suspect, who are by these simple Greeks supposed to be a sort of\nreigning sovereign in your own country, are not at home, perhaps, so\nlarge a hill of potatoes. So with Jupiter and Apollo and Mercury, and\nthe ladies of the court. I haven't a doubt that in the United States\nyou think Jupiter a remarkably great man, and Apollo a musician, and\nMercury a gentleman of some business capacity, but we Greeks know\nbetter. And as for the ladies--hum--well, your Excellency, they are\nnot received. They are too bold and pushing. They lack the\nrefinements, and as for their beauty and accomplishments--\"\n\nHippopopolis here indulged in a gesture which betokened excessive\nscorn of the beauty and accomplishments of the ladies of Olympus.\n\n\"You have never seen these people, Hippopopolis?\" I asked.\n\n\"I have been spared that necessity,\" said he, \"but I know all about\nthem, and I assert to you upon my honor as a courier and the best\nguide in the Archipelago that Jupiter is the worst old _roue_ a\ncountry ever had saddled upon it; Apollo's music would drive you mad\nand make you welcome a xylophone duet; and as for Mercury's business\ncapacity, that is merely a capacity for getting away from his\ncreditors. Why shouldn't a man wax rich if, after floating a thousand\nbogus corporations, selling the stock at par and putting the money\ninto his own pocket, he could unfold his wings and fly off into the\nempyrean, leaving his stock and bond holders to mourn their loss?\"\n\n[Illustration: HIPPOPOPOLIS EXPLAINS]\n\n\"Excuse me, Hippopopolis,\" I put in, interrupting him fearlessly for\nthe moment, \"pray don't try to deceive me by any such statement as\nthat. I don't know very much, but I know something about Mercury, and\nwhen you say he puts other people's money into his pockets, I am in a\nposition to prove otherwise. From five years of age up to the present\ntime I have been brought up in a home where a bronze statue of\nMercury, said to be the most perfect resemblance in all the statuary\nof the world, classic or otherwise, has been the most conspicuous\nornament. At ten I could reproduce on paper with my pencil every line,\nevery shade, every curve, every movement of the effigy in so far as\nmy artistic talent would permit, and I know that Mercury not only had\nno pocket, but wore no garments in which even so little as a change\npocket could have been concealed. Wherefore there must be some mistake\nabout your charge.\"\n\nHippopopolis laughed.\n\n\"Humph!\" he said. \"It is very evident that you people over the sea\nhave very superficial notions of things here. When Mercury posed for\nthat statue, like most of you people who have your photographs taken,\nhe posed in full evening dress. That is why there is so little of it\nin evidence. But in his business suit, Mercury is a very different\nsort of a person. Even in Olympus he'd have been ruled off the stock\nexchange if he'd ventured to appear there as scantily attired as he is\nin most of his statuary appearances. You certainly are not so green as\nto suppose that that suit he wears in his statues is the whole extent\nof his wardrobe?\"\n\n\"I had supposed so,\" I confessed. \"It's a trifle unconventional; but,\nthen, he's one of the gods, and, I presumed, could dress as he\npleased. Your gods are independent, I should imagine, of the mere\ndecrees of fashion.\"\n\n\"The more exalted one's position, the greater the sartorial\nobligation,\" retorted Hippopopolis, who, for a Greek and a guide, had,\nas will be seen, a vocabulary of most remarkable range. \"Just as it\nhappens that our King here, like H. R. H. the Prince of Wales, has to\nbe provided with seven hundred and sixty-eight suits of clothes so as\nto be properly clad at the variety of functions he is required to\ngrace, so does a god have to be provided with a wardrobe of rare\nquality and extent. For drawing-room tables, mantel-pieces, and\npedestals, otherwise for statuary, Mercury can go about clad in just\nabout half as much stuff as it would require to cover a fairly sized\nsofa-cushion and not arouse drastic criticism; but when he goes to\nbusiness he is as well provided with pockets as any other speculator.\"\n\n\"Another idol shattered!\" I cried, in mock grief. \"But Apollo,\nHippopopolis--Apollo! Do not tell me he is not a virtuoso of rare\ntechnique on the lyre!\"\n\n\"His technique is more than rare,\" sneered Hippopopolis. \"It is\nexcessively raw. It has been said by men who have heard both that Nero\nof Hades can do more to move an audience with his fiddle with two\nstrings broken and his bow wrist sprained than Apollo can do with the\naid of his lyre and a special dispensation of divine inspiration from\nZeus himself.\"\n\n\"There are various ways of moving audiences, Hippopopolis,\" I\nventured. \"Now Nero, I should say, could move an audience--out of the\nhall--in a very few moments. In fact, I have always believed that that\nis why he fiddled when Rome was burning: so that people would run out\nof the city limits before they perished.\"\n\n\"It's a very droll view,\" laughed Hippopopolis, \"and I dare say holds\nmuch of the truth; but Nero's faulty execution is not proof of\nApollo's virtuosity. For a woodland musicale given by the Dryads, say,\nto their friends, the squirrels and moles and wild-cats, and other\ndenizens of the forest, Apollo will suffice. The musical taste of a\nkangaroo might find the strumming of his lyre by Apollo to its liking,\nbut for cultivated people who know a crescendo andante-arpeggio from\nthe staccato tones of a penny whistle, he is inadequate.\"\n\n\"You speak as if you had heard the god,\" said I.\n\n\"I have not,\" retorted Hippopopolis, \"but I have heard playing by\npeople, generally beginners, of whom the rural press has said that\nhe--or more often she--has the touch of an Apollo, and, if that is\ntrue, as are all things we read in the newspapers, particularly the\nrural papers, which are not so sophisticated as to lie, then Apollo\nwould better not attempt to play at one of our Athenian Courier\nAssociation Smokers. I venture to assert that if he did he would have\nto be carried home with a bandage about his brow instead of a laurel,\nand his cherished lyre would become but a memory.\"\n\nI turned sadly to my supper. I had found the mundane things of Greece\ndisappointing enough, but my sorrow over Hippopopolis's expert\ntestimony as to the shortcoming of the gods was overwhelming. It was\nto be expected that the country would fall into a decadent state\nsooner or later, but that the Olympians themselves were not all that\nthey were cracked up to be by the mythologies had never suggested\nitself to me. As a result of my courier's words, I lapsed into a moody\nsilence, which by eight o'clock developed into an irresistible desire\nto sleep.\n\n\"I'll take a nap, Hippopopolis,\" said I, rolling my coat into a bundle\nand placing it under my head. \"You will, I trust, be good enough to\nstand guard lest some of these gods you have mentioned come and pick\nmy pockets?\" I added, satirically.\n\n\"I will see that the gods do not rob you,\" he returned, dryly, with a\nslight emphasis on the word \"gods,\" the significance of which I did\nnot at the moment take in, but which later developments made all too\nclear.\n\nThree minutes later I slept soundly.\n\nAt ten o'clock, about, I awoke with a start. The fire was out and I\nwas alone. Hippopopolis had disappeared and with him had gone my\nwatch, the contents of my pocket-book, my letter of credit, and\neverything of value I had with me, with the exception of my\nshirt-studs, which, I presume, would have gone also had they not been\nfastened to me in such a way that, in getting them, Hippopopolis would\nhave had to wake me up.\n\nTo add to my plight, the rain was pouring down in torrents.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nI Seek Shelter and Find It\n\n\n\"This is a fine piece of business,\" I said to myself, springing to my\nfeet. And then I called as loudly as my lungs would permit for\nHippopopolis. It was really exhilarating to do so. The name lends\nitself so readily to a sonorous effect. The hills fairly echoed and\nre-echoed with the name, but no answer came, and finally I gave up in\ndisgust, seeking meanwhile the very inadequate shelter of a tree, to\nkeep the rain off. A more woe-begone picture never presented itself, I\nam convinced. I was chilled through, shivering in the dampness of the\nnight, a steady stream of water pouring upon and drenching my\nclothing, void of property of an available nature, and lost in a\nstrange land. To make matters worse, I was familiar only with classic\nGreek, which language is utterly unknown in those parts to-day, being\nspoken only by the professors of the American school at Athens and the\nwar correspondents of the New York Sunday newspapers--a fact, by the\nway, which probably accounts for the latter's unfamiliarity with\nclassic English. It is too much in these times to expect a man to\nspeak or write more than one language at a time. Even if I survived\nthe exposure of the night, a horrid death by starvation stared me in\nthe face, since I had no means of conveying to any one who might\nappear the idea that I was hungry.\n\nStill, if starvation was to be my lot, I preferred to starve dryly\nand warmly; so, deserting the tree which was now rather worse as a\nrefuge than no refuge at all, since the limbs began to trickle forth\nsteady streams of water, which, by some accursed miracle of choice,\nseemed to consider the back of my neck their inevitable destination, I\nstarted in to explore as best I could in the uncanny light of the\nnight for some more sheltered nook. Feeling, too, that, having robbed\nme, Hippopopolis would become an extremely unpleasant person to\nencounter in my unarmed and exhausted state, I made my way up the\nmountainside, rather than down into the valley, where my inconsiderate\nguide was probably even then engaged in squandering my hard-earned\nwealth, in company with the peasants of that locality, who see real\nmoney so seldom that they ask no unpleasant questions as to whence it\nhas come when they do see it.\n\n\"Under the circumstances,\" thought I, \"I sincerely hope that the paths\nof Hippopopolis and myself may lie as wide as the poles apart. If so\nbe we do again tread the same path, I trust I shall see him in time to\nbe able to ignore his presence.\"\n\nWith this reflection I made my way with difficulty up the side of\nOlympus. Several times it seemed to me that I had found the spot\nwherein I might lie until the sun should rise, but quite as often an\ninconsiderate leak overhead through the leaves of the trees, or an\nundiscovered crack in the rocks above me, sent me travelling upon my\nway. Physical endurance has its limits, however, and at the end of a\ntwo hours' climb, wellnigh exhausted, I staggered into an opening\nbetween two walls of rock, and fell almost fainting to the ground.\nThe falling rain revived me, and on my hands and knees I crawled\nfarther in, and, to my great delight, shortly found myself in a\nhigh-ceiled cavern, safe from the storm, a place in which one might\nstarve comfortably, if so be one had to pass through that trying\nordeal.\n\n\"He might have left me my flask,\" I groaned as I thought over the pint\nof warming liquid which Hippopopolis had taken from me. It was of a\nparticular sort, and I liked it whether I was thirsty or not. \"If he'd\nonly left me that, he might have had my letter of credit, and no\nquestions asked. These Greeks are apparently not aware that there is\nconsideration even among thieves.\"\n\nHuddling myself together, I tried to get warm after the fashion of the\nsmall boy when he jumps into his cold-sheeted bed on a winter's night,\na process which makes his legs warm the upper part of his body, and\n_vice versa_. It was moderately successful. If I could have wrung the\nwater out of my clothes, it might have been wholly so. Still, matters\nbegan to look more cheerful, and I was about to drop off into a doze,\nwhen at the far end of the cavern, where all had hitherto been black\nas night, there suddenly burst forth a tremendous flood of light.\n\n\"Humph!\" thought I, as the rays pierced through the blackness of the\ncavern even to where I lay shivering. \"I'm in for it now. In all\nprobability I have stumbled upon a bandits' cave.\"\n\nPleasing visions of the ways of bandits began to flit through my mind.\n\n\"In all likelihood,\" thought I, \"there are seventeen of them. As I\nhave read my fiction, there are invariably seventeen bandits to a\nband. It's like sixteen ounces to the pound, or three feet to the\nyard, or fifty-three cents to the dollar. It never varies. What hope\nhave I to escape unharmed from seventeen bandits, even though five of\nthem are discontented--as is always the case in books--and are ready\nto betray their chief to the enemy? I am the enemy, of course, but\nI'll be hanged if I wish the chief betrayed into my hands. He could\nprobably thrash me single-handed. My hands are full anyhow, whether I\nget the chief or not.\"\n\n[Illustration: A DREAM OF BRIGANDAGE]\n\nMy heart sank into my boots; but as these were very wet, it promptly\nreturned to my throat, where it had rested ever since Hippopopolis had\ndeserted me. My heart is a very sane sort of an organ. I gazed towards\nthe light intently, expecting to see dark figures of murderous mould\nloom up before me, but in this I was agreeably disappointed. Nothing\nof the sort happened, and I grew easier in my mind, although my\ncuriosity was by no means appeased.\n\n\"I know what I will do,\" I said to myself. \"I'll make friends with the\nchief himself. That's the best plan. If he is responsive, my family\nwill be spared the necessity of receiving one of my ears by mail with\na delicate request for $20,000 ransom, accompanied by a P. S.\nenclosing the other ear to emphasize the importance of the\ncomplication.\"\n\nBy way of diversion, let me say here that, while slicing off the\nvictim's ear is a staple situation among novelists who write of\nbandits, in all my experience with bandits--and I have known a\nthousand, most of 'em in Wall Street--I have never known it done, and\nI challenge those who write of South European highway-robbers to\nproduce any evidence to prove that the habit is prevalent. The idea\nis, on the face of it, invalid. The ears of mankind, despite certain\ndifferences which are acknowledged, are, after all, very much alike.\nThe point that differentiates one ear from another is the angle at\nwhich it is set from the head. The angle, according to the most\nscientific students of the organ of hearing, is the basis of the\nestimate of the individual. Therefore, to convince the wealthy persons\nat home that large sums of money are expected of them to preserve the\nlife of the father of the family, the truly expert bandit must send\nsomething besides the ear itself, which, when cut off, has no angle\nwhatsoever. If I, who am no bandit, and who have not studied the art\nof the banditti, may make a suggestion which may prove valuable to the\nhighwaymen of Italy and Greece, the only sure method of identifying\nthe individual lies in the cutting off of the head of the victim, by\nwhich means alone the identity of the person to be ransomed may be\nsettled beyond all question. As one who has suffered, I will say that\nI would not send a check for $20,000 to a bandit on the testimony of\none ear any more than I would lend a man ten dollars on his own\nrepresentation as to the meals he had not had, the drinks he wanted,\nor the date upon which he would pay it back.\n\nAll these ideas flashed across my mind as I lay there worn in spirit\nand chilled to the bone. At last, however, after a considerable\neffort, I gathered myself together and resolved to investigate. I rose\nup, stood uncertainly on my feet, and was about to make my way towards\nthe sources of the unexpected light, when a dark figure rushed past\nme. I tried to speak to it.\n\n\"Hello, there!\" said I, hoping to gain its attention and ask its\nadvice, since it came into the cavern in that breezy fashion which\nbetokens familiarity with surroundings. The being, whatever it really\nwas, and I was soon to find this out, turned a scornful and really\nmajestic face upon me, as much as to say, \"Who are you that should\nthus address a god?\" The rushing thing wore a crown and flowing robes.\nLikewise it had a gray beard and an air of power which made me, a mere\nmortal, seem weak even in my own estimation. Furthermore, there was a\ndivine atmosphere following in his wake. It suggested the most\nbrilliant of brilliantine.\n\n\"Here,\" he cried as he passed. \"I haven't time to listen to your\nstory, but here is my card. I have no change about me. Call upon me\nto-morrow and I will attend to your needs.\"\n\nThe card fluttered to my side, and, not being a mendicant, I paid\nlittle attention to it, preferring to watch this fast-disappearing\nfigure until I should see whither it was going. Arriving at the far\nend of the cavern, the hurrying figure stopped and apparently pushed a\nbutton at the side of the wall. Immediately an iron door, which I had\nnot before perceived, was pushed aside. The dark figure disappeared\ninto what seemed to be a well-lighted elevator, and was promptly\nlifted out of sight. All became dark again, and I was frankly puzzled.\nThis was a situation beyond my ken. What it could mean I could not\nsurmise, and in the hope of finding a clew to the mystery I groped\nabout in the darkness for the card which the hurried individual had\ncast at me with his words of encouragement. Ultimately I found it, but\nwas unable to decipher its inscription, if perchance it had one.\nNevertheless, I managed to keep my spirits up. This, I think, was a\nHerculean task, considering the darkness and my extreme lonesomeness.\nI can be happy under adverse circumstances, if only I have congenial\ncompany. But to lie alone, in a black cavern, prey only to the\nthoughts of my environment, thoughts suggesting all things apart from\nlife, thoughts which send the mind over the past a thousand centuries\nremoved--these are not comforting, and these were the only thoughts\nvouchsafed to me.\n\nA half-hour was thus passed in the darkness, and then the light\nappeared again, and I resolved, though little strength was left to me,\nto seek out its source. I stood up and staggered towards it, and as I\ndrew nearer observed that the illumination came from nothing more nor\nless than an elevator at the bottom of a shaft, the magnitude of\nwhich I could not, of course, at the moment determine.\n\nThe boy in charge was a pretty little chap, and, if I may so state it,\nwas absolutely unclad, but about his shoulders was slung a strap which\nin turn held a leathern bag, which, to my eyes, suggested a golf-bag\nmore than anything else, except that it was filled with arrows instead\nof golf-clubs.\n\n\"How do you do?\" said I, politely. \"Whose caddy are you?\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said the little lad. \"Not much to brag of, however.\nMerely bobbish, pretty bobbish. In answer to your second question, I\ntake pleasure in informing you,\" he added, \"that I am everybody's\ncaddy.\"\n\n\"You are--the elevator boy?\" I queried, with some hesitation.\n\n\"That is my present position,\" said he.\n\n\"And, ah, whither do you elevate, my lad?\"\n\n[Illustration: IN THE ELEVATOR]\n\n\"Up!\" said he, after the manner of one who does not wish to commit\nhimself, like most elevator boys. \"But whom do you wish to see?\" he\ndemanded, trying hard to frown and succeeding only in making a\nludicrous exhibition of himself.\n\nFrankly, I did not know, but under the impulse of the moment I handed\nout the card which the stranger had thrown to me.\n\n\"I forget the gentleman's name,\" said I, \"but here is his card. He\nasked me to call.\"\n\nThe elevator boy glanced at it, and his manner immediately changed.\n\n\"Oh, indeed. Very well, sir,\" he said. \"I'll take you up right away.\nStep lively, please.\"\n\nI stepped into the elevator, and the lad turned a wheel which set us\nupon our upward journey at once.\n\n\"I am sorry to have been so rude to you, sir,\" said the boy. \"I\ndidn't really know you were a friend of his.\"\n\n\"Of whom?\" I demanded.\n\n\"The old man himself,\" he replied, with which he handed me back the\ncard I had given him, upon reading which I ascertained the name of the\nindividual who had rushed past me so unceremoniously.\n\nThe card was this:\n\n+--------------------------------+\n|                                |\n|                                |\n|                                |\n|     MR. JUPITER JOVE ZEUS      |\n|                                |\n|                  MOUNT OLYMPUS |\n|                     GREECE     |\n+--------------------------------+\n\n\"Top floor, sir,\" said the elevator boy, obsequiously.\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nThe Elevator Boy\n\n\n\"Known the old man long, sir?\" queried the boy as we ascended.\n\n\"By reputation,\" said I.\n\n\"Humph!\" said the lad. \"Can't have a very good opinion of him, then.\nIt's a good thing you are going to have a little personal experience\nwith him. He's not a bad lot, after all. Rotten things said of him,\nbut then--you know, eh?\"\n\n\"Oh, as for that,\" said I, \"I don't think his reputation is so\ndreadful. To be sure, there have been one or two little indiscretions\nconnected with his past, and at times he has seemed a bit vindictive\nin chucking thunder-bolts at his enemies, but, on the whole, I fancy\nhe's behaved himself pretty well.\"\n\n\"True,\" said the boy. \"And then you've got to take his bringing-up\ninto consideration. Things which would be altogether wrong in the son\nof a Presbyterian clergyman would not be unbecoming in a descendant of\nold Father Time. Jupiter is, after all, a self-made immortal, and the\nfact that his parents, old Mr. and Mrs. Cronos, let him grow up sort\nof wild, naturally left its impress on his character.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" said I, somewhat amused to hear the Thunderer's character\nanalyzed by a mere infant. \"But how about yourself, my laddie? Are you\nanybody in particular? You look like a cherub.\"\n\n\"Some folks call me Dan,\" said the boy, \"and I _am_ somebody in\nparticular. Fact is, sir, if it hadn't been for me there wouldn't\nhave been anybody in particular anywhere. I'm Cupid, sir, God of Love,\nfavorite son of Venus, at your service.\"\n\n\"And husband of the delectable Psyche?\" I cried, recalling certain\nfacts I had learned. \"You look awfully young to be married.\"\n\n\"Hum--well, I was, and I am, but we've separated,\" the boy replied,\nwith a note of sadness in his voice. \"She was a very nice little\nperson, that Psyche--one of the best ever, I assure you--but she was\ntoo much of a butterfly to be the perpetual confidante of a person\ncharged with such important matters as I am. Besides, she didn't get\non with mother.\"\n\n\"Seems to me that I have heard that Madame Venus did not approve of\nthe match,\" I vouchsafed.\n\n\"No. She didn't from the start,\" said Cupid. \"Psyche was too pretty,\nand ma rather wanted to corner all the feminine beauty in our family;\nbut I had my way in the end. I generally do,\" the little chap added,\nwith a chuckle.\n\n\"But the separation, my dear boy?\" I put in. \"I am awfully sorry to\nhear of that. I, in common with most mortals, supposed that the\nmarriage was idyllic.\"\n\n\"It was,\" said Cupid, \"and therefore not practical enough to be a good\ninvestment. You see, sir, there was a time when the love affairs of\nthe universe were intrusted to my care. Lovers everywhere came to me\nto confide their woes, and I was doing a great business. Everybody was\npleased with my way of conducting my department. I seemed to have a\nspecial genius for managing a love affair. Even persons who were\nopposed to the administration conceded that the Under Secretary of\nHome Affairs--myself--was assured of a cabinet office for life,\nwhatever party was in power. If Pluto had been able to get elected,\nthe force of public opinion would have kept me in office. Then I\nmarried, myself, and things changed. Like a dutiful husband, I had no\nsecrets from my wife. I couldn't have had if I had wanted to. Psyche's\ncuriosity was a close second to Pandora's, and, if she wanted to know\nanything, there was never any peace in the family until she found out\nall about it. Still, I didn't wish to have any secrets from her. As a\nscientific expert in Love, I knew that the surest basis of a lasting\nhappiness lay in mutual confidence. Hence, I told Psyche all I knew,\nand it got her into trouble right away.\"\n\n\"She--ah--couldn't keep a secret?\" I asked.\n\n\"At first she could,\" said Cupid. \"That was the cause of the first\nrow between her and Venus. Mother got mad as a hatter with her one\nmorning after breakfast because Psyche _could_ keep a secret. There\nwas a little affair on between Jupiter and a certain person whose name\nI shall not mention, and I had charge of it. Of course, I told Psyche\nall about it, and in some way known only to woman she managed to\nconvey to Venus the notion that she knew all about it, but couldn't\ntell, and, still further, wouldn't tell. I'd gone down-town to\nbusiness, leaving everything peaceful and happy, but when I got back\nto luncheon--Great Chaos, it was awful! The two ladies were not on\nspeaking terms, and I had to put on a fur overcoat to keep from\nfreezing to death in the atmosphere that had arisen between them. It\nwas six inches below zero--and the way those two would sniff and sneer\nat each other was a caution.\"\n\n\"I quite understand the situation,\" I said, sympathetically.\n\n\"No doubt,\" said Cupid. \"You can also possibly understand how a\nquarrel between the only two women you ever loved could incapacitate\nyou for your duties. For ten days after that I was simply incapable of\ndirecting the love affairs of the universe properly. Persons I'd\ndesigned for each other were given to others, and a great deal of\nunhappiness resulted. There were nine thousand six hundred and\nseventy-six divorces as the result of that week's work. It's a\nterrible situation for a well-meaning chap to have to decide between\nhis wife and his mother.\"\n\n\"Never had it,\" said I; \"but I can imagine it.\"\n\n\"Don't think you can,\" sighed Cupid. \"There are situations in real\nlife, sir, which surpass the wildest flights of the imagination. That\nis why truth is stranger than fiction. However,\" he added, his face\nbrightening, \"it was a useful experience to me in my professional\nwork. I learned for the first time that when a mother-in-law comes in\nat the door, intending to remain indefinitely, love flies out at the\nwindow. Or, as Solomon--I believe it was Solomon. He wrote Proverbs,\ndid he not?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said I. \"He and Josh Billings.\"\n\n\"Well,\" vouchsafed Cupid, \"I can't swear as to the authorship of the\nproverb, but some proverbialist said 'Two is company and three is a\ncrowd.' I'd never known that before, but I learned it then, and began\nto stay away from home a little myself, so that we should not be\ncrowded.\"\n\nI commended the young man for his philosophy.\n\n\"Nevertheless, my dear Dan,\" I added, \"you ought to be more\nautocratic. Knowing that two is company and three otherwise, you have\nbeen guilty of allowing many a young couple who have trusted in you to\nbegin house-keeping with an inevitable third person. We see it every\nday among the mortals.\"\n\n\"What has been good enough for me, sir,\" the boy returned, with a\ncomical assumption of sternness--he looked so like a fat baby of three\njust ready for his bath--\"is good enough for mortals. When I married\nPsyche, I brought her home to my mother's house, and for some nineteen\nthousand years we lived together. If Love can stand it, mortals must.\"\n\n\"Excuse me,\" said I, apologetically. \"I have not suffered. However, in\nall my study of you mythologians, it has never occurred to me before\nthis that Venus was the goddess of the mother-in-law.\"\n\n\"You mustn't blame me for that,\" said Cupid, dryly. \"I'm the god of\nLove; wisdom is out of my province. For what you don't know and\nhaven't learned you must blame Pallas, who is our Superintendent of\nPublic Instruction. She knows it all--and she got it darned easy, too.\nShe sprang forth from the head of Jove with a Ph.D. already conferred\nupon her. She looks after the education of the world. I don't--but\nI'll wager you anything you please to put up that man gains more real\nexperience under my management than he does from Athena's department,\nuseful as her work is.\"\n\nI could not but admit the truth of all that the boy said, and of\ncourse I told him so. To change the subject, which, if pursued, might\nlead to an exposure of my own ignorance, I said:\n\n\"But, Dan, what interests me most, and pains me most as well, is to\nhear that you are separated from Psyche. I do not wish to seem\ninquisitive on the subject of a--ah--of a man's family affairs\"--I\nhesitated in my speech because he seemed such a baby and it was\ndifficult to take him seriously, as is always the way with Love,\nunless we are directly involved--\"but you have told me of the\nseparation, and as a man, a newspaper-man, I am interested. Couldn't\nyou reconcile your mother, Madame Venus, to Psyche--or, rather, Mrs.\nDan?\"\n\n[Illustration: \"'THE GODDESS OF THE MOTHER-IN-LAW'\"]\n\n\"Not for a moment,\" replied the boy. \"Not for a millionth part of a\ntenth of a quarter of a second by a stop-watch. Their irreconcilability\nwas copper-fastened, and I found myself compelled to choose between\nthem. My mother developed a gray hair the day after the first trouble,\nand my wife began to go out to afternoon teas and sewing-circles and\ndances. The teas and dances were all right. You can't talk at either.\nBut the sewing-circle was ruin. At this particular time the circle was\nengaged in making winter garments for the children of the mother of\nthe Gracchi. I presume that as a student and as a father you realize\nall that this meant. You also know that a sewing-circle needs four\nthings: first, an object; second, a needle and thread; third, a\ngarment; fourth, a subject for conversation. These things are\nconstitutionally required, and Psyche joined what she called 'The\nImmortal Dorcas.' The result was that all Olympus and half of Hades\nwere shortly acquainted with the confidential workings of my\ndepartment--all told under the inviolate bond of secrecy, however,\nwhich requires that each member confided in shall not communicate what\nshe has heard to more--or to less--than ten people.\"\n\n\"I know,\" said I. \"The Dorcas habit has followers among my own\npeople.\"\n\n\"But see where it placed me!\" cried the little creature. \"There was\nme, or I--I don't know whether Greek or English is preferable to\nyou--charged with the love affairs of the universe. Confiding all I\nknew, like a dutiful husband, to my wife, and having her letting it\nall out to the public through the society. Why, my dear fellow, it\nwasn't long before the immortals began to accuse me of being in the\npay of the Sunday newspapers, and you must know as well as anybody\nelse that Love has nothing to do with them. Even the affairs of my\nsovereign began to creep out, and innuendoes connecting Jupiter with\npeople prominent in society were printed in the opposition organs.\"\n\n\"Poor chap!\" said I, sympathetically. \"I did not realize that you had\nto contend against the Sunday-newspaper nuisance as we mortals have.\"\n\n\"We have,\" he said, quickly, almost resignedly; \"and they are ruining\neven Olympus itself. Still, I made a stand. Told Psyche she talked too\nmuch, and from that time on confided in her no more.\"\n\n\"And how did she take it?\" I asked.\n\n\"She declined to take it at all,\" said Cupid, with a sigh. \"She\ndemanded that I should tell her everything on penalty of losing\nher--and I lost her. She left me a little over a thousand years ago,\nand my mother for the same reason sent me adrift fifteen hundred or\nmore years ago. That is why I am eking out a living running an\nelevator,\" he added, sadly. \"Still, I'm happy here. I go up when I\nfeel sad, and go down when I feel glad. On the whole, I am as happy as\nany of the gods.\"\n\n\"However, Dan,\" I cried, sympathetically, slapping him on the back,\n\"you have your official position, and that will keep you in--ah--well,\nyou don't seem to need 'em, but it would keep you in clothes if you\ncould be persuaded to wear them.\"\n\n\"No,\" said the little elevator boy, sadly. \"I don't want 'em in this\nclimate--nor are they necessary in any other. All over the world, my\ndear fellow, _true_ love is ever warm.\"\n\nThere was a decided interval. I felt sorry for the little lad who had\nbeen a god and who had become an elevator boy, so I said to him:\n\n\"Never mind, Danny, you are sure of your office always.\"\n\n\"I wish it were so,\" said he, sadly. \"But really, sir, it isn't. You\nmay think that love rules all things nowadays, but that is a fallacy.\nOf late years a rival concern has sprung up. I have found my office\nsubjected to a most annoying competition which has attracted away from\nme a large number of my closest followers. In the days when we\nacknowledged ourselves to be purely heathen, love was regarded with\nrespect, but now all that is changed. Opposite my office in the\ngovernment building there is a matrimonial corporation doing a very\nlarge business, by which the fees of my position are greatly reduced.\nPossibly after you have had your audience with Jove to-morrow you will\ntake a turn about the city, in which event you will see this trust's\nbig brazen sign. You can't miss it if you walk along Mercury Avenue.\nIt reads:\n\n+----------------------------------+\n|           MAMMON & CO.           |\n|           Matchmakers            |\n|                                  |\n|       FORTUNES GUARANTEED:       |\n|         HAPPINESS EXTRA          |\n|                                  |\n|               GEO. W. MAMMON     |\n|                      President   |\n|                                  |\n|               HORACE GREED       |\n|                    Gen'l Manager |\n|                                  |\n|   BRANCH OFFICE                  |\n| 67 Gehenna Ave., Hades           |\n+----------------------------------+\n\n\"Dear me!\" I cried. \"Poor Love!\"\n\n\"I don't need your sympathy,\" said the boy, quickly, drawing himself\nup proudly. \"It can't last, this competition. Man and god kind will\nsoon see the difference in the permanence of our respective output.\nThis is only a temporary success they are having, and it often happens\nthat the spurious articles put forth by Mammon & Company are brought\nover to me to be repaired. My sun will dawn again. You can't put out\nthe fires in my furnaces as long as men and women are made from the\nold receipt.\"\n\nHere the elevator stopped, and a rather attractive young woman\nappeared at the door.\n\n\"Here is where you get out, sir,\" said the elevator boy.\n\n\"You are Mr.----\" began the girl.\n\n\"I am,\" I replied.\n\n\"I have orders to show you to number 609,\" she said. \"The proprietor\nwill see you to-morrow at eleven.\"\n\n\"Thank you very much,\" I replied, somewhat overcome by the cordiality\nof my reception. It is not often that mere beggars are so hospitably\nreceived.\n\n\"Good-night, Cupid,\" I added, turning to the little chap in the\nelevator. \"I trust we shall meet again.\"\n\n\"Oh, I guess we will,\" he replied, with a wink at the maid. \"I\ngenerally do meet most men two or three times in their lives. So _au\nrevoir_ to you. Treat the gentleman well, Hebe,\" he concluded, pulling\nthe rope to send the elevator back. \"He doesn't know much, but he is\nsympathetic.\"\n\n\"I will, Danny, for your sake,\" said the little maid, archly.\n\nThe boy laughed and the car faded from sight. Hebe, even more lovely\nthan has been claimed, with a charmingly demure glance at my costume,\nwhich was wofully bedraggled and wet, said:\n\n\"This way, sir. I will have your luggage sent to your room at once.\"\n\n\"But I haven't any luggage, my dear,\" said I. \"I have only what is on\nmy back.\"\n\n\"Ah, but you have,\" she replied, sweetly. \"The proprietor has attended\nto that. There are five trunks, a hat-box, and a Gladstone bag already\non their way up.\"\n\nAnd with this she showed me into a magnificent apartment, and, even\nas she had said, within five minutes my luggage arrived, a valet\nappeared, unpacked the trunks and bag, brushed off the hat that had\nlain in the hat-box, and vanished, leaving me to my own reflections.\n\nSurely Olympus was a great place, where one who appeared in the guise\nof a beggar was treated like a regiment of prodigal sons, furnished\nwith a gorgeous apartment, and supplied with a wardrobe that would\nhave aroused the envy of a reigning sovereign.\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nI Summon a Valet\n\n\nThe room to which I was assigned was regal in its magnificence, and\nyet comfortable. Few modern hotels afforded anything like it, and,\ntired as I was, I could not venture to rest until I had investigated\nit and its contents thoroughly. It was, I should say, about twenty by\nthirty feet in its dimensions, and lighted by a soft, mellow glow that\nsprang forth from all parts without any visible source of supply. At\nthe far end was a huge window, before which were drawn portieres of\nrich material in most graceful folds. Pulling these to one side, so\nthat I might see what the outlook from the window might be, I\nstaggered back appalled at the infinite grandeur of what lay before my\neyes. It seemed as if all space were there, and yet within the compass\nof my vision. Planets which to my eye had hitherto been but twinkling\nspecks of light in the blackness of the heavens became peopled worlds,\nwhich I could see in detail and recognize. Mars with its canals,\nSaturn with its rings--all were there before me, seemingly within\nreach of my outstretched hand. The world in which I lived appeared to\nhave been removed from the middle distance, and those things which had\nrested beyond the ken of the mortal mind brought to my very feet, to\nbe seen and touched and comprehended.\n\nThen I threw the window open, and all was changed. The distant\nobjects faded, and a beautiful golden city greeted my eyes--the city\nof Olympus, in which I was to pass so many happy hours. For the\ninstant I was puzzled. Why at one moment the treasures of the universe\nof space had greeted my vision, and how all that had faded and the\nimmediate surroundings of a celestial city lay before me, were not\neasy to understand. I drew back and closed the window again, and at\nonce all became clear; the window-glass held the magic properties of\nthe magnifying-lens, developed to an intensity which annihilated all\nspace, and I began to see that the development of mortals in\nscientific matters was puny beside that of the gods in whose hands lay\nall the secrets of the universe, although the principles involved were\nin our full possession.\n\nThe situation overwhelmed me somewhat, and I drew the portieres\ntogether again. The feelings that came over me were similar to those\nthat come to one standing on the edge of a great precipice gazing\ndownward into the vast, black depths yawning at his feet. The\ngiddiness that once, many years before, came upon me as I stood on the\nbrink of the Niagaran cataract, which seemed irresistibly impelling me\nto join the mad rush of the waters, surged over me again, and I forced\nmyself backward into the room, shutting out the sight, lest I should\ncast myself forth into the infinite space beyond. I threw myself down\nupon a couch and covered my eyes with my hands and tried to realize\nthe situation. I was drunk with awe at all that was about me, and\nshould, I think, have gone mad trying to comprehend its grandeur, had\nnot my spirit been soothed by soft strains of music that now fell upon\nmy ears.\n\nI opened my eyes to discover whence the sounds had come, and even as\nthe light streamed from unknown and unseen sources, so it was with the\nharmonies which followed, harmonies surpassing in beauty and swelling\nglory anything I had ever heard before.\n\nAnd to these magnificent but soft and soothing strains I yielded\nmyself up and slept. How long my sleep continued I have no means of\nknowing. It seemed to last but an instant, but when I opened my eyes\nonce more I felt absolutely renewed in body and in spirit. The damp\ngarments which I had worn when I fell back upon the couch had in some\nwise been removed, and when I stood up to indulge in the usual\nstretching of my limbs I found myself clad in an immaculate flowing\nrobe of white, soft of texture, fastened at the neck with a jewelled\nbrooch, and at the waist its fulness restrained by a girdle of gold.\nFurthermore, I had apparently been put through a process of ablution\nwhich left me with the cockles of my heart as warm as toast, and my\nwhole being permeated with a glow of health which I had not known for\nmany years. The aches in my bones, which I had feared on waking to\nfind intensified, were gone; and if I could have retained permanently\nthe aspect of vigor and beauty which was returned to me by the mirror\nwhen I stood before it, I should be in imminent danger of becoming\nconceited.\n\n\"I wonder,\" said I, as I gazed at myself in the mirror, \"if this is\nthe correct costume for breakfast. It's a slight drawback to know\nnothing of the customs of the locality in which you find yourself.\nPossibly an investigation of my new wardrobe will help me to decide.\"\n\nI looked over the rich garments which had been provided, and found\nnothing which, according to my simple bringing up, suggested the idea\nthat it was a good thing to wear at the morning meal.\n\n\"They ought to send me a valet,\" I murmured. \"Perhaps they will if I\nring for one. Where the deuce is the bell, I wonder?\"\n\nA search of the room soon divulged the resting-place of this desirable\nadjunct to the tourist's comfort. The dial system which has proved so\nsuccessful in American hotels was in vogue here, except that it\nmanifested a willingness on the part of the proprietor to provide the\nguest with a range of articles utterly beyond anything to be found in\nthe purely mundane caravansary. I found that anything under the canopy\nthat the mind of man could conceive of could be had by the mere\npushing of a button. The disk of the electrical apparatus was divided\noff into many sections, calling respectively for saddle-horses,\nsymphony concerts, ocean steamships, bath-towels, stenographers;\ncocktails of all sorts, and some sorts of which I had never before\nheard, and all of which I resolved to try in discreet sequence;\nmanicures, chiropodists, astrologers, prophets, clergymen of all\ndenominations, plots for novelists--indeed, anything that any person\nin any station of life might chance to desire could be got for the\nringing.\n\nMy immediate need, however, was for a valet. Puzzled as to the manners\nand customs of the gods, I did not wish to make a bad appearance in\nthe dining-room in a costume which should not be appropriate. I did\nthink of ordering breakfast served in my room, but that seemed a very\nmortal and not a particularly godlike thing to do. Hence, I rang for a\nvalet.\n\n[Illustration: \"ANYTHING COULD BE GOT FOR THE RINGING\"]\n\n\"I will tell him to get out my morning-suit, and no doubt he will\nselect the thing I ought to wear,\" I said as I pressed the button.\n\nThe response was instant. My fingers had hardly left the button when a\nsuperb creature stood before me. Whence he sprang I do not know. There\nwere no opening of doors, no traps or false panels, that I could see.\nThe individual simply materialized.\n\n\"At your service, sir,\" said he, with a graceful obeisance.\n\n\"Pardon me,\" I replied, overcome once more by what was going on.\n\"I--ah--think there must be some mistake. I--ah--I didn't ring for a\ngod, I rang for a valet.\"\n\n\"I am the valet of Olympus, sir,\" he replied, gracefully flicking a\nspeck of dust from the calf of his leg, the contour of which was\nbeautiful to look upon, clad in superbly fitting silken tights.\n\"Adonis, at your service. What can I do for you?\"\n\n\"Well, I declare!\" I cried, lost now in admiration of the way the gods\nwere ordering things on Olympus. \"So they've made you a valet, have\nthey?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Adonis. \"I hold office for the six months that I am\nhere. You know that I am a resident of Olympus only half the time. The\nbalance I live in Hades.\"\n\n\"It's a common custom,\" said I. \"Even with us, our swellest people go\nsouth for the winter.\"\n\n\"Hum--yes,\" said Adonis, somewhat confused. \"It's very good of you to\ndraw that parallel. Your construction of the situation does credit to\nyour sense of what is polite, sir. Unfortunately for me, however, my\nposition is more like that of the habitual criminal who is sent to the\npenitentiary periodically. I have to go, whether I want to or not.\"\n\n\"Still, it must be a pleasant variation,\" I observed, forgetting that\nit is bad form to converse with a servant, and remembering only that I\nwas addressing an old flame of Madame Venus. \"Hades isn't a bad place\nfor a little while, I should fancy.\"\n\n\"True,\" sighed Adonis. \"But the society there is very mixed. It's full\nof self-made immortals, whereas we are all immortals by birth.\"\n\n\"And who, pray,\" I queried, \"takes your place while you are below?\"\n\n\"Narcissus,\" he replied; \"but there's generally a lot of complaint\nabout him. He takes more pains dressing himself than he does in\nlooking after guests, the result of which is that after my departure\nthings get topsy-turvy, and by the time I get back, with the exception\nof Narcissus, there isn't a well-dressed god in all Olympus.\"\n\n\"I wonder, where such perfection is possible,\" said I, \"that they\ntolerate that.\"\n\n\"They're not going to very much longer,\" said Adonis, and then he\nlaughed. \"Narcissus queered himself last season at the palace. Jove\nsent for him to trim his beard, and he nearly cut one of the old man's\nears off. Investigation showed that instead of keeping his eye on what\nhe was doing, he was looking at himself in the glass all the time.\nJupiter in his anger hurled a thunderbolt at him, but, fortunately for\nNarcissus, he hurled it at the mirrored and not at the real Narcissus,\nand he escaped. The result is the rumor that he will be made\nhead-waiter in the dining-room instead of valet next season, in which\nevent I shall probably be allowed to remain here all through the year,\nor else they'll put Jason on.\"\n\n\"And which would you prefer?\" I asked.\n\n[Illustration: \"JUPITER HURLED A THUNDER-BOLT AT HIM\"]\n\n\"I think I'd rather have Jason put on,\" said Adonis. \"While I don't\ncare much for the climate of Hades, I am received there with much\nconsideration socially, whereas up here I am only the valet. One\ndoesn't mind being a nabob once in a while, you know. Besides--ah--don't\nsay anything about it to anybody up here, but I'm getting a trifle\ntired of Venus. She is still beautiful, but you can't get over the\nidea that she's over four thousand years old. Furthermore, I met a\nlittle Fury down below last season who is simply ravishing.\" Here\nAdonis gave me a wink which made me rather curious to see the little\nFury.\n\n\"Ah, Adonis, Adonis!\" I cried, shaking my finger at him; \"still up to\nyour old tricks, are you?\"\n\n\"Why not?\" he demanded. \"My character is formed. _Noblesse oblige_ is\na good motto for us all, only when one is born with _faiblesse_\ninstead of _noblesse_, it becomes _faiblesse oblige_. Furthermore,\nsir, if I am to have the reputation, I must insist upon the\nperquisites.\"\n\nWhat I replied to this bit of moralizing I shall not put down here,\nsince I have no wish to commit myself thus publicly. I will say,\nhowever, that I did not blame the youthful-looking person\nunreservedly.\n\n\"Moreover, I have very fine apartments in Hades,\" he added, \"and I\nshould hate to give them up. I live at the select home for gods and\ngentlemen, kept by Madame Persephone. When she takes an interest in\none of her boarders she is a mighty fine landlady, and, like most\nladies, if I may say it with all due modesty, she has taken an\ninterest in me. The result is that I have the best suite in the house,\noverlooking the Styx, and as fine a table as any one could want. But\nI must ask your pardon, sir, for taking up so much of your time with\nmy personal affairs. We both seem to have forgotten that I am here to\nwait upon you.\"\n\n\"It has been very interesting, Adonis,\" I said. \"And if it's anybody's\nfault, it is mine. What I wished of you was that you should get out my\nbreakfast-suit, so that I might dress and go to the dining-room.\"\n\n\"Certainly, sir,\" he replied, walking to the clothes-closet. \"Pardon\nme, but--ah--what is your profession when at home?\"\n\n\"Why do you ask?\" I queried. \"Not that I am unwilling to tell you,\nbut--\"\n\n\"I merely wished to guide my selection of your garments. If you are a\nnaval officer, I will put out your admiral's uniform. If you are a\nprofessional golfer, I'll get out your red coat.\"\n\n\"I am a literary man,\" I said.\n\n\"Ah!\" he observed, lifting his eyebrows. \"Then, of course, you won't\nmind wearing these.\"\n\nAnd he hauled forth a pair of black-and-white trousers with checks as\nlarge as the squares of a chessboard, a blue cloth vest with white\npolka dots, and a long, gray Prince Albert coat, with mauve satin\nlapels. The shirt was pink and blue, stripes of each alternating,\nrunning cross-ways, a white collar, and a flaring red four-in-hand\ntie!\n\n\"Great Scott, Adonis!\" I cried. \"Must I wear those?\"\n\n\"You're under no compulsion to do so,\" said he. \"But I thought you\nsaid you were a literary man.\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"Well--literary men never care what they wear so long as they attract\nattention, do they?\"\n\nI laughed. \"We are not all built that way, Adonis,\" said I. \"Some of\nus are modest and have a little taste.\"\n\n\"Well, it's news to me,\" said he. \"I guess it must be among the minor\nlights.\"\n\n\"It is--generally,\" said I. \"And if you don't mind, I'd rather wear\nthe golf clothes.\"\n\nAnd I did.\n\n\n\n\nV\n\nThe Olympian Links\n\n\n\"There,\" said Adonis, as he put the finishing touch to my costume.\n\"You look like a champion. Do you play golf, sir?\"\n\n\"There's a difference of opinion about that, Adonis,\" I replied, my\nmind reverting to the number of handicap matches I hadn't won. \"Some\npeople who have observed my game say I don't. Have you links here?\"\n\n\"Have we links?\" he cried. \"Well, rather. They're said to be the best\nin the universe.\"\n\n\"And are they handy?\"\n\n\"Very--in the season.\"\n\n\"I don't quite catch the idea,\" I said.\n\n\"Oh, sometimes the course is nearer than it is at others. Come here a\nminute,\" he said, \"and I'll point it out to you.\"\n\nHe drew me to the wonderful window of which I have already spoken, and\nthrough the powerful glass pointed in the direction of Mars.\n\n\"See that?\" he said.\n\n\"Yes,\" I replied. \"That is Mars.\"\n\n\"Exactly,\" said Adonis. \"Mars is the Olympian links. His distance from\nhere varies, as you are probably aware. When Mars is near aphelion he\nis 61,800,000 miles away, but in his perihelion he gets it down to\n33,800,000. That's why we have our golf season while Mars is in his\nperihelion. It saves us 28,000,000 miles in getting there.\"\n\nI laughed. \"You call that handy, do you?\" I said.\n\n\"Why not?\" he asked. \"It's a matter of five minutes on a bike, ten\nminutes in the automobile, and twenty minutes if you walk.\"\n\n\"Of course, Adonis,\" said I, \"I'm not so green as to swallow all that.\nHow the dickens can you walk through space?\"\n\n\"You're vastly greener than you think you are,\" he retorted, rather\nuncivilly, perhaps, for a valet, but I paid no attention to that,\npreferring to take him, despite his menial capacity, in his godlike\npersonality. \"I might even say, sir, that your greenness is spacious.\nYou judge us from your own mean, limited, mundane point of view. But\nyou needn't think because you earth people cannot walk on air we\nOlympians are equally incapacitated. You can walk there in two ways.\nOne of these is to fasten a pair of ankle-wings on your legs; the\nother is to purchase a pair of sky-scrapers. These are simple,\nconsisting merely of boots with gas soles. You inflate the soles with\ngas and walk along. It's simple and easy, doesn't require any\npractice, and as long as you keep up in the air and don't step on\nchurch steeples or weather-vanes it's perfectly safe. Of course, if\nyou stepped on a sharp-pointed weather-vane, or a lightning-rod, and\npunctured your sole, there's no telling what would happen.\"\n\n\"And how about the wings?\" I asked.\n\n\"They're much more exhilarating, but a little dangerous if you don't\nknow how to use them,\" Adonis replied. \"Flying isn't any easier than\nroller-skating, and if you upset and get your head below your feet\nit's extremely difficult to right yourself again. If you try to go out\nthere with ankle-wings, take my advice and wear a pair of small\nballoons about your chest to hold you right-end upward.\"\n\n\"I'll remember,\" said I, somewhat awed at the prospect of trying to\nwalk through space with the aid of ankle-wings. \"And how about the\nbicycle?\" I added.\n\n\"If you can ride a bicycle on an ordinary road you'll have no\ntrouble,\" he replied. \"Keep your tires well filled with gas and avoid\nheaders. If I were you, though, at first I'd go out on the automobile.\nIt makes six round trips a day and it's absolutely safe. Being so high\nup in the air might make you dizzy, and you might find the bicycling\ntoo much for your nerves. After a little while you'll get used to\nenormous heights, and then, of course, you can go any old way you\nchoose. The fare for the round trip is only fifteen hundred dollars.\"\n\n\"The automobile is in competent hands, eh?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Adonis. \"Phaeton has charge of it.\"\n\n\"Humph!\" I sneered. \"He's your idea of a competent driver, eh? He\nhasn't that reputation on earth. Was it an untruth that credits him\nwith a fine smash-up when he tried to drive the chariot of the sun?\"\n\n\"Not a bit of it,\" said Adonis. \"That's all of it simple truth. I\nhappen to know, because I saw the finish of the whole thing myself,\nand was one of the fellows who turned a fire-extinguisher on him and\nsaved him from being a total loss to the insurance companies. But he\nlearned his lesson. There's nothing like experience to teach caution,\nand that little episode gave Phaeton caution to burn, if I may indulge\nin mundane slang. He was guyed so unmercifully by everybody for his\ncarelessness that the first thing he did when he recovered was to\nlearn how to drive, and it wasn't six cycles before he was the most\nexpert whip in Olympus. He finally made a profession of it and\nestablished a livery-stable. Then, when the automobile came in and\nhorses went out of fashion, he kept up with the times, and is to-day\nin charge of all our rapid transit--he owns the franchises for the\nJupiter and Dipper Trolley Road, he is the largest stockholder in the\nMetropolitan Traction Company of Neptune, Saturn, and Venus, and is\nsaid to be the moving spirit back of the new underground electric in\nHades.\"\n\n\"I guess he'll do,\" said I, reflecting with admiration upon the\nwonderful self-rehabilitation of one I had previously regarded as a\nfoolish incompetent.\n\n\"You won't have to guess again in this case,\" said Adonis, dryly.\n\"You've hit it right the very first time.\"\n\n\"Well, tell me about the links, Adonis,\" said I. \"Getting there seems\nto be an easy matter, but after you get there, how about the course?\nIs it eighteen holes?\"\n\n\"It is,\" said Adonis, \"and of proper length, too, and splendidly\narranged. You start at the club-house right near the landing-stage and\nplay right around the planet, so that when you're through you're back\nat the club-house again. At the ninth hole there is a half-way house,\nwhere you can get nectar, and ambrosia, and sarsaparilla, and any\nother soft drink you want.\"\n\n\"No hard drinks, eh?\" I queried.\n\n\"Not at the half-way house,\" said Adonis. \"We gods have too much sense\nto indulge in hard drinks in the middle of a game. If you want hard\ndrinks you have to wait till you get back to the club-house.\"\n\n\"That is rather sensible,\" I said, as I thought of how a Martini\ncocktail taken at the ninth hole had ruined my chances in the\nNoodleport Annual Handicap last autumn. \"But I say, Adonis,\" I added,\n\"did I understand you to say that you played all around Mars?\"\n\n\"Yes--why not?\" said he.\n\n\"Pretty long holes, I should say,\" said I. \"Mars is four thousand\nmiles round, isn't it?\"\n\n\"You _are_ an earth-worm,\" he retorted, forgetting his place wholly in\nhis scorn for my picayune ideas. \"Calling a paltry four thousand miles\nlong--why, you can play around that links in two hours and a half.\"\n\n\"Indeed?\" said I. \"And how long may your hours be? Everything here is\non such a magnificent scale, I suppose one of your hours is about\nequal to one of our decades.\"\n\n\"Oh no,\" said Adonis. \"It isn't that way at all. Fact is, we make our\nhours to suit ourselves. I am merely reckoning on a basis that you\nwould comprehend. I meant two and a half of your hours. Any\nmoderately expert player can play the Mars links in that time. Take\nthe first hole, for instance--it's only two hundred and fifty miles\nlong.\"\n\n\"Really--is that all!\" I ejaculated, growing sarcastic. \"A drive, two\nbrassies, an approach, and forty puts, I presume?\"\n\n\"For a duffer, perhaps,\" retorted Adonis. \"Willie Ph[oe]bus does it in\nsix. A seventy-five-mile drive, a seventy-mile brassie, a loft over\nthe canal for twenty-five miles, a forty-five-mile cleak, a\nthirty-mile approach, and--\"\n\n\"A dead easy put of five miles!\" I put in, making a pretence of being\nno longer astonished.\n\n\"That's the idea,\" said Adonis. \"Of course, everybody can't do it,\" he\nadded. \"And bogie for that hole is really seven. Willie Ph[oe]bus\nplayed too well for a gentleman, so we made him a professional. He'll\ngive you lessons for a thousand dollars an hour, if you want him to.\"\n\n\"Thanks,\" said I. \"I'll think about it. Can he teach me how to drive a\nball seventy-five miles?\"\n\n\"That depends on your capacity,\" said Adonis. \"Some of the best\nplayers frequently drive seventy-five miles--the record is ninety-six\nmiles, made by Jove himself. Willie taught him.\"\n\n\"For Heaven's sake!\" I cried, losing my self-poise for an instant.\n\"What do you drive with? Olympian Gatling guns?\"\n\n\"Not at all,\" replied Adonis. \"We use one of our regular drivers--the\nbest is called the 'celestial catapult.' Ph[oe]bus sells 'em at the\nCaddie House for five hundred dollars apiece. If you strike a ball\nfair and square with the 'celestial catapult,' and neither pull nor\nslice, it can't help going forty miles, anyhow.\"\n\n\"And how, may I ask, do the caddies find a ball that goes seventy-five\nmiles?\"\n\n\"They don't have to. All our balls are self-finding,\" said Adonis.\n\"The ball in use now is a recent invention of Vulcan's. They cost\ntwelve hundred dollars a dozen. They are made of liquefied\nelectricity. We take the electric current, liquefy it, then solidify\nit, then mould it into the form of a sphere. Inside we place a little\ngong, that begins to ring as soon as the ball lands. The electricity\nin it is what makes it fly so rapidly and so far, and even you mortals\nknow the principle of the electric bell.\"\n\n\"Oh, indeed we do,\" said I, pulling at my mustache nervously. I was\nbeginning to get excited over this celestial golf. On earth I have all\nof the essentials of a first-class golf maniac, except the ability to\nplay the game. But this so far surpassed anything I had ever seen or\nimagined before that I was growing too keen over it for comfort. I was\nin real need of having my spirits curbed, so I ventured to inquire\nafter a phase of the game that has always dampened my ardor in the\npast--the caddie service. I did not expect that this could attain\nperfection even in Olympus, and I was not far wrong.\n\n\"You must have pretty lively caddies,\" I threw out.\n\nAdonis sighed. \"You'd think so, but that's where we are always in\ntrouble. We've tried various schemes, but they haven't any of 'em\nworked well. At first we took our own Olympian boys. We got the mother\nof the Gracchi to lend us her offspring, but they weren't worth a rap.\nThen we hired forty little devils from Hades, and we had to send them\nback inside of a week. They were regular little imps. They were\ncutting up monkey shines all the time, and waggled their horrid little\ntails so constantly that Jove himself couldn't keep his eye on the\nball--and the language they used was something frightful. You couldn't\ntrust them to clean your clubs, because there wasn't any power\nanywhere that could keep them from running off with 'em; and in the\nmatter of balls, they'd steal every blessed one they could lay their\nhands on. We finally had to employ cherubs. We've about sixty of 'em\non hand now all the time, and they come as near being perfect as you\ncould expect. Ever see a cherub?\"\n\n\"Only in pictures,\" said I. \"They're just heads with wings, aren't\nthey?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Adonis, \"and, having no bodies, they're seldom in the way,\nand some of the best of 'em can fly almost as fast as the ball.\"\n\n\"How do they carry the bags?\" I asked, much interested.\n\n\"They hang 'em about their necks, just above their wings,\" Adonis\nexplained, \"but even they are not perfect. They fly very carelessly,\nand often, in swooping about the sky, drop your clubs out of the bag\nand smash 'em; and they all look so infernally alike that you can\nnever tell your own caddy from the other fellow's, which is sometimes\nvery confusing.\"\n\n\"Still,\" I put in, \"a caddie with no pockets is a very safe person to\nintrust with golf balls.\"\n\n\"That's very true,\" said Adonis, \"and I suppose the cherubs make as\ngood caddies as we can expect. Caddies will be caddies, and that's the\nend of it. You can't expect a caddie to do just right any more than\nyou can expect water to flow uphill. There are certain immutable laws\nof the universe which are as unchangeable in Olympus as on earth or\nin Hades. Ice is cold, fire is hot, water is wet, and caddies are\ncaddies.\"\n\n[Illustration: THE OLYMPIAN LINKS]\n\n\"Very true,\" said I, reflecting upon the ways of \"Some Caddies I have\nMet.\" \"What do you pay them a round?\"\n\n\"One hundred and twenty-five dollars,\" said Adonis.\n\n\"Cheap enough,\" said I. \"But tell me, Adonis,\" I continued, \"who is\nyour amateur champion?\"\n\n\"Jupiter, of course,\" said Adonis, with an impatient shake of his\nhead. \"He's champion of everything. It's one of his prerogatives. We\ndon't any of us dare win a cup from him for fear he'll use his power\nto destroy us. That is one of the features of this Olympian life that\nis not pleasant--though, for goodness' sake, don't say I told you!\nHe'd send me into perpetual exile if he knew I'd spoken that way.\nHe's threatened to make me Governor-General of the Dipper half a\ndozen times already for things I've said, and I have to be very\ncareful, or he'll do it.\"\n\n\"An unpleasant post, that?\"\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"I don't exactly know how to compare it so that you\nwould understand precisely. I should say, however, it would be about\nas agreeable as being United States ambassador to Borneo.\"\n\n\"I'll never tell, Adonis,\" said I, \"and I'm very much obliged to you\nfor our pleasant chat. Your description of the links has interested me\nhugely. If I could afford a game at your prices, I think I'd play.\"\n\n\"Oh, as for that,\" said Adonis, laughing, \"don't let that bother you.\nWhenever you want to pay a bill here all you have to do is to press\nthe cash button on the teleseme over there, and they'll send the money\nup from the office.\"\n\n\"But how shall I ever repay the office?\" I cried.\n\n\"Press the button to the left of it, and they'll send you up a receipt\nin full,\" he replied.\n\n\"You mean to say that this hotel is run--\" I began.\n\n\"On the Olympian plan,\" interrupted the valet with a low bow. \"All\nbills here are of that pleasing variety known as 'Self-paying.'\"\n\nWith which comforting assurance Adonis left me, and I started for the\ndining-room, my appetite considerably whetted by the idea of a game of\ngolf over links four thousand miles in length with balls that could be\ndriven fifty or sixty miles, and cherubs for caddies, at no cost to\nmyself whatsoever.\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\nIn the Dining-Room\n\n\nAs I emerged from the door of my room into the hall, I found a small\nsedan-chair, of highly ornamental make, awaiting my convenience,\ncarried upon the shoulders of two diminutive boys, who were as black,\nand shone as lustrously, as a bit of highly polished ebony. I had\nnever seen their like before, save in an occasional bit of statuary in\nItaly, wherein marbles of differing hue and shade had been ingeniously\nused by the sculptor to give color to his work. The boys themselves,\nas I have said, were of polished ebony hue, while the breech-cloths\nwhich formed their sole garment were of purest alabaster white. Upon\ntheir heads were turbans of pink. They grinned broadly as I came out,\nand opened the door of the chair for me.\n\n\"Dis way fo' de dinin'-room, sah,\" said one of them, showing a set of\nivory teeth that dazzled my eyes.\n\nI thanked him and entered the chair. When I was seated, I turned to\nthe little chap.\n\n\"What particular god do you happen to be, Sambo?\" I asked. It was\nprobably not the most reverent way to put it, but in a community like\nOlympus gods are really at a discount, and the black particle was so\nlike a small pickaninny I used to know in Savannah that I could not\naddress him as if he were Jupiter himself.\n\n\"Massy me, massa,\" he returned, his smile nearly cutting the top of\nhis head off, reaching as it did around to the back of his ears. \"I\nain' no gord. I'se jess one o' dese low-down or'nary toters. Me an'\nhim totes folks roun' de hotel.\"\n\n\"A very useful function that, Sambo; and where were you born?\" I\nasked. \"North Carolina, or Georgia?\"\n\n\"Me?\" he replied, looking at me quizzically. \"I guess yo's on'y\nfoolin', massa. Me? Why, I 'ain't never been borned at all, sah--\"\n\n\"Jess growed, eh--like Topsy?\" I asked.\n\n\"Who dat, Topsy?\" he demanded.\n\n\"Oh, she was a little nigger girl that became very famous,\" I\nexplained.\n\n\"Doan' know nuffin' 'bout no Topsy,\" he said, shaking his head. \"We\nain' niggers, eider, yo' know, me an' him ain't. We's statulary.\"\n\n\"What?\" I cried. The word seemed new.\n\n\"Statulary,\" he continued. \"We was carved, we was. There ain't nothin'\nborned 'bout us. Never knowed who pap was. Man jess took a lot o'\nmahble, he did, an' chiselled me an' him out.\"\n\nI eyed both boys closely and perceived that in all probability he\nspoke the truth. His flesh and dress had all of the texture of marble,\nbut now the question came up as to the gift of speech and movement and\nthe marvellous and graceful flexibility of their limbs.\n\n\"You can't fool me, Sambo,\" said I. \"You're nothing but a very\ngood-looking little nigger. You can't make me believe that you are\nanother Galatea.\"\n\n\"Doan' no nuffin' 'bout no gal's tears,\" he returned instantly. \"But I\ndone tole yo' de truf. Me an' him was chiselled out o' brack marble by\npap. Ef we'd been borned we'd been niggahs sho' nuff, but bein'\ncarvin's, like I tole yuh, we's statulary.\"\n\n\"But how does it come that if you are only statuary, you can move\nabout, and talk, and breathe?\" I demanded.\n\n\"Yo'll have to ask mistah Joop'ter 'bout dat,\" the boy answered. \"He\ndone gave us dese gif's, an' we's a-usin' ob 'em. De way it happened\nwas like o' dis. Me an' him was a standin' upon a petterstal down in\none o' dem mahble yards what dey calls gall'ries in Paris. We'd been\nsent dah by de man what done chiselled us, an' Joop'ter he came 'long\nwid Miss' Juno an' when he seed us he said: 'Dare you is, Juno! Dem\nboys'll make mighty good buttonses foh de hotel.' Juno she laffed, an'\nsaid dat was so, on'y she couldn't see as we had many buttons. 'Would\nyou like to have 'em?' Joop'ter ast, and she said 'suttinly.' So he\ntu'ned hisself into a 'Merican millionaire an' bought me an' him off\n'n de manager, an' he had us sent here. All dat time we was nuffin'\nbut mahble figgers, but soon's we arrived here, Joop'ter sent us\nup-stairs to de lab'ratory, an' fust ting me an' him knowed we was\nlivin' bein's.\"\n\nI admired Jupiter's taste, not failing either to marvel at the\nwonderful power which only once before, as far as I knew, he had\nexerted to give to a bit of sculpture all the flush and glory of life,\nas in the case set forth in the pathetic tale of Pygmalion and\nGalatea.\n\n\"And does he do this sort of thing often?\" I inquired.\n\n\"Yass indeedy,\" said Sambo. \"He's doin' it all de time. Mos' ob de\nhelp in dis hotel is statulary, an' ef yo' wants to see a reel lively\ntime 'foh yo' goes back home, go to de Zoo an' see 'em feed de Trojan\nHoss, an' de Cardiff Giant. He brang bofe dem freaks to life, an' now\nhe can't get rid ob 'em. Dat Trojan Hoss suttinly am a berry debbil.\nHe stans up gentle as a lamb tell he gets about a hundred an' fifty\npeople inside o' him, an' den he p'tends like he's gwine to run away,\nan' he cyanters, an' cyanters aroun', tell ebberybody's dat seasick\ndey can't res'.\"\n\nI resolved then and there to see the Trojan Horse, but not to get\ninside of him. I never before had suspected that the famous beast had\na sense of humor in his makeup. I was about to make some further\ninquiry when a bell above us began to sound forth sonorously.\n\n\"Massy me!\" cried little Sambo, springing to his place in front of the\nchair. \"Dat's de third an' lass call for breakfas'. We done spent too\nmuch time talkin'.\"\n\nWith which observation, he and his companion, shouldering their\nburden, trotted along the richly furnished hall to the dining-room. I\nthen observed a charming feature of life in the Olympian Hotel, and I\npresume it obtains elsewhere in that favored spot. There are no such\nthings as stairs within its walls. From the magnificent office on the\nground floor to the glorious dining-room on the forty-eighth, the\nbroad corridor runs round and round and round again with an upward\nincline that is barely perceptible--indeed, not perceptible at all\neither to the eye or to the muscles of the leg. And while there are\nthe most speedy elevators connecting all the various floors, one can,\nif one chooses, walk from cellar to roof of this marvellous place\nwithout realizing that he is mounting to an unusual elevation. And in\nthe evening these corridors form a magnificent parade, brilliantly\nlighted, upon which are to be met all the wealth, beauty, and fashion\nof Olympus--alas! that I have no means of returning there with certain\nof my friends with whom I would share the good things that have come\ninto my life!\n\nBut to return to the story. Sambo and his brother soon \"toted\" me to\nthe entrance of the dining-room--graceful little beggars they were,\ntoo.\n\n\"Your breakfast is ready, sir,\" said the head waiter, bowing low.\n\nWhat impelled me to do so I shall never know, but it was an\ninspiration. I seemed to recognize the man at once, and, as I had\nfrequently done on earth to my own advantage, I addressed him by name.\n\n\"Having a good season, Memnon?\" I said, slipping a silver dollar into\nhis hand.\n\nIt worked. Whether I should have found the same excellent service had\nI not spoken pleasantly to him I, of course, cannot say, but I have\nnever been so well cared for elsewhere. The captious reader may ask\nhow anything so essentially worldly as a silver dollar ever crept into\nOlympus. I can only say that one of the magic properties of the\ngarment I wore was that whatever I put my hand into my pocket for, I\ngot. As a travelled American, realizing the potency under similar\nconditions of that heavy and ugly coin, I instinctively sought for it\nin my pocket and it was there. I do not attempt to explain the process\nof its getting there. It suffices to say that, as the guest of the\ngods, my every wish was met with speedy attainment. I could not help\nbut marvel, too, at the appropriateness of everything. What better\nthan that the King of the Ethiopians should be head waiter to the\ngods!\n\n\"Things are never dull here, sir,\" said Memnon, pocketing my dollar\nand escorting me to my table. \"We do not often have visitors like\nyourself, however, and we are very glad to see you.\"\n\nI sat down before a magnificent window which seemed to open out upon a\nuniverse hitherto undreamed of.\n\n\"Do you wish the news, sir?\" Memnon asked, respectfully.\n\n\"Yes,\" said I. \"Ah--news from home, Memnon,\" I added.\n\n\"Political or merely family?\" said he.\n\n\"Family,\" said I.\n\nMemnon busied himself about the window and in a moment, gazing through\nit, I had the pleasure of seeing my two boys eating their supper and\nchallenging each other to mortal combat over a delinquent strawberry\nresting upon the tablecloth.\n\n\"Give me a little politics, Memnon,\" said I, as the elder boy thrashed\nthe younger, not getting the strawberry, however, which in a quick\nmoment, between blows, the younger managed to swallow. \"They seem to\nbe about as usual at home.\"\n\nAnd I was immediately made aware of the intentions of the\nadministration at Washington merely by looking through a window. There\nwere the President and his cabinet and--some others who assist in\nmaking up the mind of the statesman.\n\n\"Now a dash of crime,\" said I.\n\n\"High or low?\" asked Memnon, fingering the push-button alongside of\nthe window.\n\n\"The highest you've got,\" said I.\n\nI shall not describe what I saw. It was not very horrible. It was\nrather discouraging. It dealt wholly with the errors of what is known\nas Society. It showed the mistakes of persons for whom I had acquired\na feeling of awe. It showed so much that I summoned Memnon to shut the\nglass off. I was really afraid somebody else might see. And I did not\nwish to lose my respect for people who were leaders in the highest\nwalks of social life. Still, a great many things that have happened\nsince in high life have not been wholly surprising to me. I have\nfurthermore so ordered my own goings and comings since that time that\nI have no fear of what the Peeping Toms of Olympus may see. If mankind\ncould only be made to understand that this window of Olympus opens out\nupon every act of their lives, there might be radical reforms in some\nquarters where it would do a deal of good, although to the general\npublic there seems to be no need for it.\n\nAt this point a waiter put a small wafer about as large as a penny\nupon the table.\n\n\"H'm--what's that, Memnon?\" I asked.\n\n\"Essence of melon,\" said he.\n\n\"Good, is it?\" I queried.\n\n\"You might taste it and see, sir,\" he said, with a smile. \"It is one\nof a lot especially prepared for Jupiter.\"\n\nI put the thing in my mouth, and oh, the sensation that followed! I\nhave eaten melons, and I have dreamed melons, but never in either\nexperience was there to be found such an ecstasy of taste as I now\ngot.\n\n\"Another, Memnon--another!\" I cried.\n\n\"If you wish, sir,\" said he. \"But very imprudent, sir. That wafer was\nconstructed from six hundred of the choicest--\"\n\n\"Quite right,\" said I, realizing the situation; \"quite right. Six\nhundred melons _are_ enough for any man. What do you propose to give\nme now?\"\n\n\"_Oeufs Midas_,\" said Memnon.\n\n\"Sounds rather rich,\" I observed.\n\n\"It would cost you 4,650,000 francs for a half portion at a Paris\ncafe, if you could get it there--which you can't.\"\n\n\"And what, Memnon,\" said I, \"is the peculiarity of eggs _Midas_?\"\n\n\"It's nothing but an omelet, sir,\" he replied; \"but it is made of eggs\nlaid by the goose of whom you have probably read in the _Personal\nRecollections of Jack the Giant-Killer_. They are solid gold.\"\n\n\"Heavens!\" I cried. \"Solid gold! Great Scott, Memnon, I can't digest a\nsolid gold omelet. What do you think I am--an assay office?\"\n\nMemnon grinned until every tooth in his head showed, making his mouth\nlook like the keyboard of a grand piano.\n\n\"It is perfectly harmless the way it is prepared in the kitchen, sir,\"\nhe explained. \"It isn't an eighteen-karat omelet, as you seem to\nthink. The eggs are solid, but the omelet is not. It is, indeed, only\nsix karats fine. The alloy consists largely of lactopeptine,\nhydrochloric acid, and various other efficient digestives which render\nit innocuous to the most delicate digestion.\"\n\n\"Very well, Memnon,\" I replied, making a wry face, \"bring it on. I'll\ntry a little of it, anyhow.\" I must confess it did not sound inviting,\nbut a guest should never criticise the food that is placed before him.\nMy politeness was well repaid, for nothing more delicate in the way of\nan omelet has ever titillated my palate. There was a slight metallic\ntaste about it at first, but I soon got over that, just as I have got\nused to English oysters, which, when I eat them, make me feel for a\nmoment as if I had bitten off the end of a brass door-knob; and had I\nnot calculated the cost, I should have asked for a second helping.\n\nMemnon then brought me a platter containing a small object that\nlooked like a Hamburg steak, and a most delicious cup of _cafe au\nlait_.\n\n\"Filet Olympus,\" he observed, \"and coffee direct from the dairy of the\ngods.\"\n\nBoth were a joy.\n\n\"Never tasted such a steak!\" I said, as the delicate morsel actually\nmelted like butter in my mouth.\n\n\"No, sir, you never did,\" Memnon agreed. \"It is cut from the steer\nbred for the sole purpose of supplying Jupiter and his family with\ntenderloin. We take the calf when it is very young, sir, and surround\nit with all the luxuries of a bovine existence. It is fed on the most\ndelicate fodder, especially prepared by chemists under the direction\nof AEsculapius. The cattle, instead of toughening their muscles by\nwalking to pasture, are waited upon by cow-boys in livery. A gentle\namount of exercise, just enough to keep them in condition, is taken\nat regular hours every day, and at night they are put to sleep in\nfeather beds and covered with eiderdown quilts at seven o'clock.\"\n\n\"Don't they rebel?\" I asked. \"I should think a moderately active calf\nwould be hard to manage that way.\"\n\n[Illustration: CARING FOR THE CALVES]\n\n\"Oh, at first a little, but after a while they come to like it, and by\nthe time they are ready for killing they are as tender as humming\nbirds' tongues,\" said Memnon. \"If you take him young enough, you can\ndo almost anything you like with a calf.\"\n\nIt seemed like a marvellous scheme, and far more humane than that of\nfattening geese for the sale of their livers.\n\n\"And this coffee, Memnon? You said it was fresh from the dairy of the\ngods. You get your coffee from the dairy?\" I asked.\n\n\"The breakfast coffee--yes, sir,\" replied Memnon. \"Fresh every\nmorning. You must ask the steward to let you see the _cafe-au-lait_\nherd--\"\n\n\"The what?\" I demanded.\n\n\"The _cafe-au-lait herd_,\" repeated Memnon. \"A special permit is\nrequired to go through the coffee pasture where these cows are fed.\nSome one, who had a grudge against Pales, who is in charge of the\ndairymaids, got into the field one night and sowed a lot of chicory in\nwith the coffee, and the result was that the next season we got the\nworst coffee from those cows you ever tasted. So they made a rule that\nno one is allowed to go there any more without a card from the\nsteward.\"\n\n\"You don't mean to say--\" I began.\n\n\"Yes, I do,\" said Memnon. \"It is true. We pasture our cows on a coffee\nfarm, and, instead of milk, we get this that you are drinking.\"\n\n\"Wonderful idea!\" said I.\n\n\"It is, indeed,\" said Memnon; \"that is, from your point of view. From\nours, it does not seem so strange. We are used to marvels here, sir,\"\nhe continued. \"Would you care for anything more, sir?\"\n\n\"No, Memnon,\" said I. \"I have fared sumptuously--my--ah--my appetite\nis somewhat taken away by all these tremendous things.\"\n\n\"I will have an appetite up for you, if you wish,\" he replied, simply,\nas if it were the easiest thing in the world.\n\n\"No, thank you,\" said I. \"I think I'll wait until I am acclimated. I\nnever eat heavily for the first twenty-four hours when I am in a\nstrange place.\"\n\nAnd with this I went to the door, feeling, I must confess, a trifle\nill. The steak and coffee were all right, but there was a suggestion\nof pain in my right side. I could not make up my mind if it were the\nsix hundred melons or whether a nugget from the omelet had got caught\nin my vermiform appendix.\n\nAt any rate, I didn't wish to eat again just then.\n\nAt the door the sedan-chair and the two little blackamoors were\nawaiting me.\n\n\"We have orders to take you to the Zoo, sah,\" said Sambo.\n\n\"All right, Sambo,\" said I. \"I'm all ready. A little air will do me\ngood.\"\n\nAnd we moved along.\n\nI forgot to mention that, as he closed the chair door upon me, Memnon\nhanded me back the silver dollar I had given him.\n\n\"What is this, Memnon?\" said I.\n\n\"The dollar you wished me to keep for you, sir,\" he replied.\n\n\"But I intended it for you,\" said I.\n\nHis face flushed.\n\n\"I am just as much obliged, sir, but, really, I couldn't, you know.\nWe don't take tips in Olympus, sir.\"\n\n\"Indeed?\" said I. \"Well--I'm sorry to have offended you, Memnon. I\nmeant it all right. Why didn't you tell me when I gave it you?\"\n\n\"I should have given you a check for it, sir. I supposed you didn't\nwish to carry anything so heavy about with you.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said I, replacing the dollar in my pocket. \"Thank you for your\ncare of it, Memnon. No offence, I hope?\"\n\n\"None at all, sir,\" he replied, again showing his wonderful ivory\nteeth. \"I don't take offence at anything so trifling. Had you handed\nme a billion dollars, I should have declined to wait on you.\"\n\nAnd he bowed me away in a fashion which made me feel keenly the\nnarrowness of my escape.\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\nAEsculapius, M.D.\n\n\nWe had not gone very far along when the pain in my side became\npoignant and I called out of the window to Sambo:\n\n\"Sammy, is there a doctor anywhere on the way out to the Zoo?\" I\nasked.\n\n\"Yassir,\" he replied, slowing down a trifle. \"We gotter go right by de\ndoh ob Dr. Skilapius.\"\n\n\"Doctor who?\" I asked--the name was new to me.\n\n\"'Tain't _Skill_-apius,\" growled the boy behind, who seemed rather\njealous that I had taken no notice of him. \"It's Eee-skill-apius.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said I, beginning to catch their drift. \"Dr. AEsculapius. Is that\nwhat you are trying to say?\"\n\n\"Yassir,\" said both boys. \"Dass de man.\"\n\n\"Well, stop at his office a moment,\" said I. \"I'm feeling a trifle\nill.\"\n\nIn a few minutes we drew up before a large door to the right of the\ncorridor before which there hung a shingle marked in large gilt\nletters:\n\n+-----------------------------------+\n|                                   |\n|         AESCULAPIUS, M.D.          |\n|                                   |\n|   Office Hours: 10 to 12.         |\n|                                   |\n|                        Tuesdays.  |\n|                                   |\n+-----------------------------------+\n\nI knocked at the door and was promptly admitted.\n\n\"I wish to see the doctor,\" said I.\n\n\"This is Monday, sir,\" the maid replied--I couldn't quite place her,\nbut she seemed rather above her station and was stunningly beautiful.\n\n\"What of that?\" I demanded, as fiercely as I could, considering how\npretty the maid was.\n\n\"The doctor can only be seen on Tuesdays,\" said she. \"It's on the\ndoor.\"\n\n\"But I'm sick,\" I cried. \"Very sick, indeed.\"\n\n\"No doubt,\" she replied, with a shrug of her shoulders that I found\nvery fetching. \"Else you would not have come. But you are not so sick\nthat you can't wait until to-morrow, or if you are, you might as well\ndie, because the doctor won't take a case he can't think over a week.\"\n\n\"Nice arrangement, that,\" said I, scornfully. \"It may do very well for\nimmortals, but for a mortal it's pretty poor business.\"\n\nThe maid's manner underwent an immediate change.\n\n[Illustration: \"'THEN YOU MUST DIE'\"]\n\n\"Excuse me, sir,\" she said, making me a courtesy. \"I did not know you\nwere a mortal. I presumed you were a minor god. The doctor will see\nyou at once.\"\n\nI was ushered into the consulting-room immediately--in fact, too\nquickly. I wanted to thank the pretty maid for taking me for an\nimmortal. There was no time for this, however, for in a moment\nAEsculapius himself appeared.\n\n\"You must pardon Alcestis,\" he said, after the first greetings were\nover. \"She is new to the business and doesn't know a god from a hole\nin the ground. She presumed you were immortal and did not realize the\nemergency.\"\n\n\"That's all right, doctor,\" said I, glad to learn who the entrancing\nperson at the door was. \"I've called to see you because--\"\n\n\"Pray be silent,\" the doctor interrupted, holding his hand up in\nadmonition. \"Let me discover your symptoms for myself. It is the surer\nmethod. Physicians in your world are frequently led astray by placing\ntoo much reliance upon what their patients tell them. I have devised a\nnew system. _Believe nothing the patient says._ See? If a man tells me\nhe has a headache, I send him to a chiropodist. If his ankle pains\nhim, I send him to an oculist. If he says his chest is oppressed, I\nhave him treated for spinal meningitis; and an alleged pain in the\nback my assistants cure by placing a mustard plaster on the throat.\"\n\n\"Then your medical principles are based on what, doctor?\" I asked,\nsomewhat amused.\n\n\"A simple motto which prevails among you mortals: 'All men are\nliars'--'Omnes homines mendaces sunt.' It is safer than your accepted\nmethods below. A sick man is the last man in the universe to describe\nhis symptoms accurately. The mere fact that he is ill distorts his\njudgment. Therefore, I never allow it. If I can't find out for myself\nwhat is the matter with a patient, I give up the case.\"\n\n\"And the patient dies?\" I suggested.\n\n\"Not if he is an immortal,\" he replied, quietly. \"Come over here,\" he\nadded, indicating a spot near the window where there was a strong\nlight. I went, and AEsculapius, taking a pair of eye-glasses from a\ncabinet in one corner of his apartment, placed them on the bridge of\nhis nose.\n\n\"Now look out of the window,\" said he. \"To the left.\"\n\nI obeyed at once. What I saw may not be described. I shrank back in\nhorror, for I saw so much real suffering that my own trouble grew less\nin intensity.\n\n\"Now look me straight in the eye,\" said AEsculapius, an amused smile\nplaying about his lips.\n\nI turned my vision straight upon his glasses and was abashed. I\naverted my glance.\n\n\"Nonsense,\" said he, taking me by the shoulders. \"Look at my\npupils--straight--don't be afraid--there! That's it. These glasses\nwon't hurt you, and, after all, I'm not very terrible,\" he added,\ngenially.\n\nIt required an effort, but I made it, although, in so doing, I seemed\nto be turning my soul inside out for his inspection.\n\n\"H'm,\" breathed AEsculapius. \"Rather serious. You think you have\nappendicitis.\"\n\n\"Have I?\" I cried.\n\nAEsculapius laughed. \"_Have_ you?\" he asked. \"What do you think you\nthink?\"\n\n\"I think I have,\" said I, my heart growing faint at the very thought\nI thought I was thinking.\n\n\"You are at least sure of your convictions,\" said AEsculapius. \"Now, as\na matter of fact, the thoughts your thoughtful nature has induced you\nto think are utterly valueless. You have a pain in your side?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said I. \"And a very painful pain in my side--and I am not\nputting on any side in my pain either,\" I added.\n\n\"No doubt,\" said AEsculapius. \"But are you sure it is in your side, or\nisn't it your chest that aches a trifle, eh?\"\n\n\"Not much,\" said I, growing doubtful on the subject.\n\n\"Still it aches,\" said he.\n\n\"Yes,\" I answered, the pain in my side weakening in favor of one in my\nchest. \"It does.\" And it really did, like the deuce.\n\n\"Now about that pain in your chest,\" said AEsculapius. \"Isn't it\nrather higher up--in your throat, instead of your chest?\"\n\nMy throat began to hurt, and abominably. Every particle of it throbbed\nwith pain, and my chest was immediately relieved.\n\n\"I think,\" said I, weakly, \"that the pain _is_ rather in my throat\nthan in my chest.\"\n\n\"But your side doesn't ache at all?\" suggested AEsculapius.\n\nI had forgotten my side altogether.\n\n\"Not a bit,\" said I; and it didn't.\n\n\"So far, so good,\" said the doctor. \"Now, my friend, about this throat\ntrouble of yours. Do you think you have diphtheria, or merely\ntoothache?\"\n\nI hadn't thought of toothache before, but as soon as the doctor\nmentioned it, a pang went through my lower jaw, and my larynx seemed\nall right again.\n\n\"Well, doctor,\" said I, \"as a matter of fact, the pain does seem to\nbe in my wisdom teeth.\"\n\n\"So-called,\" said he, quietly. \"More tooth than wisdom, generally. And\nnot in your throat?\" continued the doctor.\n\n[Illustration: I VISIT AESCULAPIUS]\n\n\"Not a bit of it,\" said I. My throat seemed strong enough for a\npolitical campaign in which I was principal speaker. \"It's _all_ in my\nteeth.\"\n\n\"Upper or lower?\" he asked, with a laugh, and then he gazed fixedly at\nme.\n\nI had not realized that I had upper teeth until he spoke, and a\nshudder went through me as a semicircle of pain shot through my upper\njaw.\n\n\"Upper,\" I retorted, with some surliness.\n\n\"Verging a trifle on your cheekbones, and thence to the optic nerve,\"\nhe said, calmly, still gazing into my soul. \"I'll try your sight.\nLook at that card over there, and tell me--\"\n\n\"What nonsense is this, doctor?\" I cried, angry at his airy manner and\nmanifest control over my symptoms. \"There is nothing the matter with\nmy eyes. They're as good as any one of the million eyes of your friend\nthe Argus.\"\n\n\"Then what, in the name of Jupiter, is the matter with you?\" he\nejaculated, elevating his eyebrows.\n\n\"Nothing at all,\" said I, sulkily.\n\nAEsculapius threw himself on the sofa and roared with laughter.\n\n\"Perfectly splendid!\" he said, when he had recovered from his mirth.\n\"Perfectly splendid! You are the best example of the value of my\nsystem I've had in a long time. Now let me show you something,\" he\nadded. \"Put these glasses on.\"\n\nHe took the glasses from his nose and put them astride of mine, and\nlead me before a mirror--a cheval-glass arrangement that stood in one\ncorner of the room.\n\n\"Now look yourself straight in the eye,\" said he.\n\nI did so, and truly it was as if I looked upon the page of a book\nprinted in the largest and clearest type. I hesitate to say what I saw\nwritten there, since the glass was strong enough to reach not only the\nmind itself, but further into the very depths of my subself-consciousness.\nOn the surface, man thinks well of himself; this continues in modified\nintensity to his self-consciousness, but the fool does not live who,\nin his subself-consciousness, the Holy of Holies of Realization, does\nnot know that he is a fool.\n\n\"Take 'em off,\" I cried, for they seemed to burn into the very depths\nof my soul.\n\n\"That isn't necessary,\" said AEsculapius, kindly. \"Just turn your eyes\naway from the glass a moment and they won't bother you. I want to cure\nthis trouble of yours.\"\n\nI stopped looking at myself in the mirror and the tense condition of\nmy nerves was immediately relieved.\n\n\"Feel better right away, eh?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yes,\" I admitted.\n\n\"So I thought,\" he said. \"You've momentarily given up\nself-contemplation. Now lower your gaze. Look at your chest a moment.\"\n\nJust what were the properties of the glass I do not know, nor do I\nknow how one's chest should look, but, as I looked down, I found that\njust as I could penetrate to the depths of my mind through my eyes, so\nwas it possible for me to inspect myself physically.\n\n\"Nothing the matter there, eh?\" said AEsculapius.\n\n\"Not that I can see,\" said I.\n\n\"Nor I,\" said he. \"Now, if you think there is anything the matter with\nyou anywhere else,\" he added, \"you are welcome to use the glasses as\nlong as you see fit.\"\n\nI took a sneaking glance at my right side and was immediately made\naware of the fact that all was well with me there, and that all my\ntrouble had come from my ill-advised \"wondering\" whether that Midas\nomelet would bother me or not.\n\n\"These glasses are wonderful,\" said I.\n\n\"They are a great help,\" said AEsculapius.\n\n\"And do you always permit your patients to put them on?\" I asked.\n\n\"Not always,\" said he. \"Sometimes people really have something the\nmatter with them. More often, of course, they haven't. It would never\ndo to let a really sick man see his condition. If they are ill, I can\nsee at once what is the matter by means of these spectacles, and can,\nof course, prescribe. If they are not, there is no surer means of\neffecting a cure than putting these on the patient's nose and letting\nhim see for himself that he is all right.\"\n\n\"They have all the quality of the X-ray light,\" I suggested, turning\nmy gaze upon an iron safe in the corner of the room, which immediately\ndisclosed its contents.\n\n\"They are X-ray glasses,\" said AEsculapius. \"In a good light you can\nsee through anything with 'em on. I have lenses of the same kind in my\nwindow, and when you came up I looked at you through the window-pane\nand saw at once that there was nothing the matter with you.\"\n\n\"I wish our earthly doctors had glasses like these,\" I ventured,\ntaking them off, for truly I was beginning to fancy a strain.\n\n\"They have--or at least they have something quite as good,\" said\nAEsculapius. \"They are all my disciples, and in the best instances they\ncan see through the average patient without them. They have insight.\nYou don't believe you deceive your physician, do you?\"\n\n\"I have sometimes thought so,\" said I, not realizing the trap the\ndoctor was setting.\n\n\"How foolish!\" he cried. \"Why should you wish to?\"\n\nI was covered with confusion.\n\n\"Never mind,\" said AEsculapius, smiling pleasantly. \"You are only human\nand cannot help yourself. It is your imagination leads you astray.\nHalf the time when you send for your physician there is nothing the\nmatter with you.\"\n\n\"He always prescribes,\" I retorted.\n\n\"That is for your comfort, not his,\" said AEsculapius, firmly.\n\n\"And sometimes they operate when it isn't necessary,\" I put in,\npersistently.\n\n\"True,\" said AEsculapius. \"Very true. Because if they didn't, the\npatient would die of worry.\"\n\n\"Humph!\" said I, incredulous. \"I never knew that the operation for\nappendicitis was a mind cure.\"\n\n\"It is--frequently,\" observed the doctor. \"There are more people, my\nfriend, who have appendicitis on their minds than there are those who\nhave it in their vermiforms. Don't forget that.\"\n\nIt was a revelation, and, to tell the truth, it has been a revelation\nof comfort ever since.\n\n\"I fancy, doctor,\" said I, after a pause, \"that you are a Christian\nScientist. All troubles are fanciful and indicative of a perverse\nsoul.\"\n\nAEsculapius flushed.\n\n\"If one of the gods had said that,\" he replied, \"I should have\noperated upon him. As a mortal, you are privileged to say unpleasant\nthings, just as a child may say things to his elders with impunity\nwhich merit extreme punishment. Christian Science is all right when\nyou are truly well--in good physical condition. It is a sure cure for\nimaginary troubles, but when you are really sick, it is not of\nOlympus, but of Hades.\"\n\nAEsculapius spoke with all the passion of a mortal, and I was\nembarrassed. \"I did not mean to say anything unpleasant, doctor,\" said\nI.\n\n\"That's all right, my lad,\" said AEsculapius, patting me on the back.\n\"I knew that. If I hadn't known it, you'd have been on the table by\nthis time. And now, good-bye. Curb your imagination. Think about\nothers. Don't worry about yourself without cause, and never send for a\ndoctor unless you know there's something wrong. If I had my way you\nmortals would be deprived of imagination. That is your worst disease,\nand if at any time you wish yours amputated, come to me and I'll fix\nyou out.\"\n\n\"Thanks, doctor,\" I replied; \"but I don't think I'll accept your\noffer, because I need my imagination in my business.\"\n\nAnd then, realizing that I had received my _conge_, I prepared to\ndepart.\n\n\"How much do I owe you, doctor?\" I asked, putting my hand into the\npocket of my gown, confident of finding whatever I should need.\n\n\"Nothing,\" said he. \"The real physician can never be paid. He either\nrestores your health or he does not. If he restores your health, he\nsaves your life, and he is entitled to what your life is worth. If he\ndoes not restore your health--he has failed, and is entitled to\nnothing. All you have will never pay your doctor for what he does for\nyou. Therefore, go in peace.\"\n\nI stood abashed in the presence of this wise man, and, as I went forth\nfrom his office, I realized the truth of what he had said. In our own\nworld we place a value upon the service of the man who carries us over\nthe hard and the dark places. Yet who can really repay him for all\nthat he does for us when by his skill alone we are rescued from peril?\n\nI re-entered my sedan-chair and set the blackies off again, with\nsomething potent in my mind--how much I truly owed to the good man who\nhas taken at times the health of my children, of my wife, of myself,\nin his hands and has seen us safely through to port. I have not yet\nbeen able to estimate it, but if ever he reads these lines, he will\nknow that I pay him in gratitude that which the world with all its\nwealth cannot give.\n\n\"Now for the Zoo, boys,\" I cried. \"AEsculapius has fixed me up.\"\n\nAnd we scampered on.\n\n\n\n\nVIII\n\nAt the Zoo\n\n\nWe had not travelled far from the office of AEsculapius when my little\ncarriers turned from the broad and beautiful corridor into a narrow\npassage, through which they proceeded with some difficulty until we\nreached the other side of this strangely constructed home of the gods.\nAs we emerged into the light of day, the view that presented itself\nwas indescribably beautiful. I have looked from our own hills at home\nupon many a scene of grandeur. From the mountain peaks of New\nHampshire, with the sun streaming down upon me, I have looked upon\nthe valleys beneath through rifts in clouds that had not ventured so\nhigh, and were drenching the glorious green below with refreshing\nrains, and have stood awed in the presence of one of the simplest\nmoods of nature. But the sight that greeted my eyes as I passed along\nthat exterior road of Olympus, under the genial auspices of those\nwonderful gods, appealed to something in my soul which had never\nbefore been awakened, and which I shall never be able adequately to\ndescribe. The mere act of seeing seemed to be uplifting, and, from the\nmoment I looked downward upon the beloved earth, I ceased to wonder\nthat gods were godlike--indeed, my real wonder was that they were not\nmore so. It seemed difficult to believe that there was anything\nearthly about earth. The world was idealized even to myself, who had\nnever held it to be a bad sort of place. There were rich pastures,\ngreen to the most soul-satisfying degree, upon which cattle fed and\nlived their lives of content; here and there were the great cities of\nearth seen through a haze that softened all their roughness; nothing\nsordid appeared; only the fair side of life was visible.\n\nAnd I began to see how it came about that these Olympian gods had lost\ncontrol over man. If the world, with all its joys and all its\nmiseries, presents to the controlling power merely its joyous side,\nwhat sympathy can one look for in one's deity? There was Paris and\nNotre Dame in the sunlight. But the Morgue at the back of Notre\nDame--in the shadow of its sunlit towers--that was not visible to the\neye of the casual god who drove his blackamoors along that entrancing\nroadway. There was London and the inspiring pile of Westminster\nshowing up its majestic top, lit by the wondrous light of the sun--but\nstill undiscovered of the gods there rolled on its farther side the\nThames, dark as the Styx, a very grave of ambition, yet the last\nsolace of many a despairing soul. London Bridge may tell the gods of\nmuch that may not be seen from that glorious driveway along the\nexterior of Olympus.\n\nI found myself growing maudlin, and I pulled myself together.\n\n\"Magnificent view, Sammy,\" said I.\n\n\"Yassir,\" he replied, trotting along faithfully. \"Dass what dey all\nsays. _I_ 'ain't nebber seen it. 'Ain't got time to look at it.\"\n\n\"Well, stop a moment and look,\" said I. \"Isn't it magnificent?\"\n\nThe blackies stopped and looked.\n\n\"Putty good,\" said Sammy, \"but I doan' care fo' views,\" he added. \"Dey\nmakes me dizzy.\"\n\nI gave Sammy up from that moment. He was well carved, a work of art,\nin fact, but he was essentially modern, and I was living in the\nantique.\n\n\"Hustle along to the Zoo,\" I cried, with some impatience, and I was\ntruly \"hustled.\"\n\n\"Here we is,\" said Sammy, settling down on his haunches at the end of\na five-mile trot. \"Dis is it.\"\n\nWe had stopped before a gate not entirely unlike those the Japanese\nerect before popular places of amusement they frequent.\n\nI descended from the chair and was greeted by an attendant who\ndemanded to know what I wished to see.\n\n\"The animals,\" said I.\n\nHe laughed. \"Well,\" he said, \"I'll show you what I've got, but truly\nmost of them have gone off on vacation.\"\n\n\"Is the Trojan Horse here?\" I demanded.\n\n\"No,\" said he. \"He's in the repair shop. One of his girders is loose,\nand the hinges on his door rusted and broke last week. His interior\nneeds painting, and his left hind-leg has been wobbly for a long time.\nIt was really dangerous to keep him longer without repairs.\"\n\nI was much disappointed. In visiting the Olympian Zoo I was largely\nimpelled by a desire to see the Trojan Horse and compare him with the\nConey Island Elephant, which, with the summer hotels of New Jersey and\nthe Statue of Liberty, at that time dominated the minor natural\nglories of the American coast in the eyes of passengers on in-coming\nsteamships. I think I should even have ventured a ride in his\ncapacious interior despite what Sammy had said of his friskiness and\nthe peril of his action to persons susceptible to sea-sickness.\n\n\"Too bad,\" said I, swallowing my disappointment as best I could.\n\"Still, you have other attractions. How about the Promethean vulture?\nIs he still living?\"\n\n\"Unfortunately, no,\" said the attendant. \"He was taken out last year\nand killed. Got too proud to live. He put in a complaint about his\nfood. Said Prometheus was a very interesting man, but as a diet he was\nmonotonous and demanded a more diversified _menu_. Said he'd like to\ntry Apollo and a Muse or two, for a little while, and preferred Cupids\non toast for Sunday-night tea.\"\n\n\"What a vulturian vulture!\" said I.\n\n\"Wasn't he?\" laughed the attendant. \"We replied by wringing his neck,\nand served him up in a chicken salad to a party of tourists from\nHades.\"\n\nThis struck me as reasonable, and I said so.\n\n\"Well, whatever you happen to have on hand will satisfy me,\" I added.\n\"Just let me see what animals you have and I'll be content.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" replied the attendant. \"Step this way.\"\n\nHe took me along a charming pathway bordered with many a beautiful\ntree and adorned with numerous flowers of wondrous fragrance.\n\n\"This path is not without interest,\" he said; \"all the trees and\nshrubs have a history. That laurel over there, for instance, used to\nbe a Daphne. She and Jupiter had a row and he planted her over there.\nMakes a very pretty tree, eh?\"\n\n\"Extremely,\" said I. \"Have you many similar ventures?\"\n\n\"Oh yes. Our botanical gardens are full of them,\" he replied. \"Those\ntrees to the right are Baucis and Philemon. That lotos plant on the\nleft used to be Dryope, and when Adonis isn't busy valeting at the\nhotel, he comes down here and blooms as an anemone, into which, as you\nare probably aware, he was changed by Venus. That pink thing by the\nfountain is Hyacinthus, and over there by the pond is where Narcissus\nblooms. He's a barber in his off hours.\"\n\nI had already learned that, so expressed no surprise.\n\n\"That's a stunning sunflower you have,\" I ventured, pointing to a\nperfect specimen thereof directly ahead of us.\n\n\"Yes,\" said the attendant. \"That's Clytie. She's only potted. We don't\nset her out permanently, because the royal family like to have her on\nthe table at state dinners. And she, poor girl, rather enjoys it.\nApollo is generally to be found at these dinners either as a guest or\nplaying a zither or a banjo behind a screen. Wherever he is, the\nsunflower turns and it affords considerable amusement among Jupiter's\nguests to watch it. Jupiter has christened Clytie the Sherlock Holmes\nof Olympus, because wherever Apollo is she spots him. Sometimes when\nhe isn't present, he has to be very careful in his statements about\nwhere he has been, for long habit has made Clytie unerring in her\ninstinct.\"\n\nThis seemed to me to be a rather good revenge on Apollo for his very\nungodlike treatment of Clytie, and if half the attendant told me that\nday at the Zoo is true, this excessively fickle Olympian is probably\nsorry by this time that he treated her originally with such uncalled\nfor disdain.\n\n\"Come over here and see the bear-pit,\" said the guide. I obeyed with\nalacrity, and, leaning over the rail, had the pleasure of seeing the\nmost beautiful bruin my eyes had ever rested upon. She was as glossy\nas a new silk hat; her eyes were as soft and timid as those of a\nfrightened deer, and, when she moved, she was the perfection of grace.\n\n\n[Illustration: CALLISTO]\n\n\"Good-morning, Callisto,\" said my guide.\n\n\"Same to you, my dear Cephalus,\" the bear returned, in a sweet\nfeminine voice that entranced me.\n\n\"How are things with you to-day?\" asked Cephalus, with a kindly smile.\n\n\"Oh, I can't growl,\" laughed Callisto--it was evident that the\nunfortunate woman was not taking her misfortune too seriously. \"Only I\nwish you'd tell people who come here that while I undoubtedly am a\nbear, I have not yet lost my womanly taste, and I don't want to be fed\nall the time on buns. If anybody asks you what you think I'd like,\ntell them that an occasional _omelette soufflee_, or an oyster pate,\nor a platter of _petits fours_ would please me greatly.\"\n\n\"I shall do it, Callisto,\" said the keeper, as he started to move\naway. \"Meanwhile, here's a stick of chewing-gum for you.\" Callisto\nreceived it with a manifestation of delight which moved me greatly,\nand I bethought myself of the magic properties of my coat, and\nplunging my hand into its capacious pockets, I found there an oyster\npate that made my mouth water, and an _omelette soufflee_ that looked\nas if it had been made by a Parisian milliner, it was so dainty.\n\n\"If madam will permit me,\" said I, with a bow to Callisto.\n\n\"Thank you kindly,\" the bear replied, in that same thrillingly sweet\nvoice, and dancing with joy. \"You are a dear, good man, and if you\never have an enemy, let me know and I'll hug him to death.\"\n\nAs we again turned to go, Cephalus laughed. \"Queer case that!\" he\nsaid. \"You'd have thought Juno would let up on that poor woman, but\nshe doesn't for a little bit.\"\n\n\"Well--a jealous woman, my dear Cephalus--\"\n\n\"True,\" said he. \"That's all true enough, but, great Heavens, man,\nJuno ought to be used to it by this time with a husband like Jupiter.\nShe's overstocked this Zoo a dozen times already with her jealous\nfreaks, and Jupiter hasn't reformed once. What good does it do?\"\n\n\"Doesn't she ever let 'em off?\" I asked. \"Doesn't Callisto ever have a\nSunday out, for instance?\"\n\n\"Yes, but always as a bear, and the poor creature doesn't dare take\nher chance with the other wild beasts--the real ones. She's just as\nafraid of bears as she ever was, and if she sees a plain, every-day\ncow coming towards her, she runs shrieking back to her pit again.\"\n\n\"Poor Callisto,\" said I. \"And Actaeon? How about him?\"\n\n\"He's here--but he's a holy terror,\" replied Cephalus, shaking his\nhead. \"He gets loose once in a while, and then everybody has to look\nout for himself, and frankly,\" Cephalus added, his voice sinking to a\nwhisper, \"I don't blame him. Diana treated him horribly.\"\n\n\"I always thought so,\" said I. \"He really wasn't to blame.\"\n\n\"Certainly not,\" observed Cephalus. \"If people will go in swimming\nout-of-doors, it's their own fault if chance wayfarers stumble upon\nthem. To turn a man into a stag and then set his own dogs on him for a\nthing he couldn't help strikes me as rank injustice.\"\n\n\"Wonder to me that Jupiter doesn't interfere in this business,\" said\nI. \"He could help Callisto out without much trouble.\"\n\n\"The point about that is that he's afraid,\" Cephalus explained. \"Juno\nhas threatened to sue him for divorce if he does, and he doesn't dare\nbrave the scandal.\"\n\nWe had by this time reached a long, low building that looked like a\nstable, and, as we entered, Cephalus observed:\n\n\"This is our fire-proof building where we keep our inflammable beasts.\nThat big, sleeping creature that looks like a mastodon lizard is the\ndragon that your friend St. George, of London, got the best of, and\nsent here with his compliments. I'll give the beast a prod and let you\nsee how he works.\"\n\nCephalus was as good as his word, and for a moment I wished he wasn't.\nSuch a din as that which followed the dragon's awakening I never heard\nbefore, and every time the horrible beast opened his jaws it was as if\na fire-works factory had exploded.\n\n\"Very dangerous creature that,\" said Cephalus. \"But he is splendid\nfor fetes. Shows off beautifully in the dark. I'll prod him again and\njust you note the prismatic coloring of his flames. Get up there,\nFido,\" he added, poking the dragon with his stick a second time. \"Wake\nup, and give the gentleman an illumination.\"\n\nThe scene of the moment before was repeated, only with greater\nintensity, and even in the sunlight I could see that the various hues\nhis fiery breathings took on were gorgeous beyond description. A\nbonfire built of red, pink, green, and yellow lights, backed up by\ndriftwood in a fearful state of combustion, about describes it.\n\n\"Superb,\" said I, nearly overcome by the grandeur of the scene.\n\n\"Well, just imagine it on a dark night!\" cried Cephalus,\nenthusiastically. \"Fido is very popular as a living firework, but he's\na costly luxury.\"\n\nI laughed. \"Costly?\" said I. \"I don't see why. Fireworks as grand as\nthat must cost a deal more than he does.\"\n\n\"You don't know,\" said Cephalus, pressing his lips together. \"Why,\nthat dragon eats ten tons of cannel coal a day, and it takes the\ncombined efforts of six stokers, under the supervision of an expert\nengineer, to keep his appetite within bounds. You never saw such an\neater, and as for drinking--well, he's awful. He drinks sixteen\ngallons of kerosene at luncheon.\"\n\nI eyed Cephalus narrowly, but beyond a wink at the dragon, I saw no\nreason to believe that he was deceiving me.\n\n\"Then he sets fire to things, and altogether he's an expensive beast\nAren't you, Fido?\"\n\n\"Yep,\" barked the dragon.\n\n\"Now, over there,\" continued the guide, patting the dragon on the\nhead, whereat the fearful beast wagged his tail and breathed a\nthousand pounds of steam from his nostrils to express his pleasure.\n\"Over there are the fire-breathing bulls--all the animals here are\nfire-breathing. The bulls give us a lot of trouble. You can't feed 'em\non coal, because their teeth are not strong enough to chew it; and you\ncan't feed 'em on hay, because they'd set fire to it the minute they\nbreathed on it; and you can't put 'em out to pasture because they'd\nwither up a sixty-acre lot in ten minutes. It's an actual fact that we\nhave to send for Jason three times a day to come here and feed them.\nHe's the only person about who can do it, and how he does it no one\nknows. He pats them on the neck, and they stop breathing fire. That's\nall we know.\"\n\n\"But they must eat something. What does Jason give them?\" I demanded.\n\n\"We've had to invent a food for them,\" said Cephalus. \"Dr. AEsculapius\ndid it. It's a solution of hay, clover, grass, and paraffine mixed\nwith asbestos.\"\n\n\"Paraffine?\" I cried. \"Why, that's extremely inflammable.\"\n\n\"So are the bulls,\" was Cephalus's rejoinder. \"They counteract each\nother.\" I gazed at the animals with admiration. They were undoubtedly\nmagnificent beasts, and they truly breathed fire. Their nostrils\nsuggested the flames that are emitted from the huge naphtha jets that\nare used to light modern circuses in country towns, and as for their\nmouths, any one who can imagine a bull with a pair of gas-logs\nilluminating his reflective smile, instead of teeth, may gain a\ncomprehensive idea of the picture that confronted me.\n\nI had hardly finished looking at these, when Cephalus, impatient to\nbe through with me, as guides often are with tourists, observed:\n\n\"There is the ph[oe]nix.\"\n\nI turned instantly. I have always wished to see the ph[oe]nix. A bird\nhaving apparently the attractive physique of a broiler deliberately\nsitting on a bonfire had appealed strongly to my interest as well as\nto my appetite.\n\n\"Dear me!\" said I. \"He's not handsome, is he?\"\n\nHe was not; resembling an ordinary buzzard with wings outstretched\nsitting upon that kind of emberesque fire that induces a man in a\nlibrary to think mournfully about the past, and convinces\nhim--alas!--that if he had the time he could write immortal poetry.\n\n\"Not very!\" Cephalus acquiesced. \"Still, he's all right in a Zoo. He's\nqueer. Look at his nest, if you don't believe it.\"\n\n[Illustration: I MEET THE PH[OE]NIX]\n\n\"I never believed otherwise, my dear Cephalus,\" said I. \"He seems to\nme to be a unique thing in poultry. If he were a chicken he would be\nhailed with delight in my country. A self-broiling broiler--!\"\n\nThe idea was too ecstatic for expression.\n\n\"Well, he isn't a chicken, so your rhapsody doesn't go,\" said\nCephalus. \"He's little short of a buzzard. Useful, but not appetizing.\nIf I were a profane mortal, I should call him a condemned nuisance.\nMost birds build their own nests, and a well-built nest lasts them a\nwhole season. This infernal bird has to have a furnace-man to make his\nbed for him night and morning, and if, by some mischance, the fire\ngoes out, as fires will do in the best-regulated families, he begins\nto squawk, and he squawks, and he squawks, and he squawks until the\nkeeper comes and sets his nest a-blazing again. He has a voice like a\nsick fog-horn that drives everybody crazy.\"\n\n\"Why don't you fool him sometimes?\" I suggested. \"Make a nest out of a\nmustard-plaster and see what he would do.\"\n\n\"He's too old a bird to be caught that way,\" said Cephalus. \"He's a\nconfounded old ass, but he's a brainy one.\"\n\nAt this moment a blare of the most heavenly trumpets sounded, and\nCephalus and I left the building and emerged into the garden to see\nwhat had caused it. There a dazzling spectacle met my gaze. A regiment\nof Amazons was drawn up on the green of the parade and a superb gilded\ncoach, drawn by six milk-white horses, stood before them, while two\ngorgeously apparelled heralds sounded a fanfare. Cephalus immediately\nbecame deeply agitated.\n\n\"It is his Majesty's own carriage and guard,\" he cried.\n\n\"Whose?\" said I.\n\n\"Jupiter's,\" said he. \"I fancy they have come for you.\"\n\nAnd it so transpired. One of the heralds advanced to where I was\nstanding, saluted me as though I were an emperor, and, through his\ngolden trumpet, informed me that eleven o'clock was approaching; that\nhis Majesty deigned to grant me the desired audience, and had sent a\ncarriage and guard of honor.\n\nI returned the salute, thanked Cephalus for his attentions, and\nentered the carriage. A brass band of a hundred and twenty pieces\nstruck up an inspiring march, and, preceded and followed by the\nAmazons, I was conveyed in state to the palatial quarters of Zeus\nhimself.\n\nIt suggested comic opera with a large number of pretty chorus girls,\nbut I could not help being impressed in spite of this thought with the\nfact that Jupiter knew how to do a thing up in style. I was indeed so\nawed with it all that I did not dare wink at a single Amazon while _en\nroute_, although strongly tempted to do so several times.\n\n\n\n\nIX\n\nSome Account of the Palace of Jupiter\n\n\nSo dazzled was I by all that went on about me, by the gorgeousness of\nmy equipage and by the extraordinary richness of the costumes worn by\nmy escort, that for the moment I forgot that I was not myself clad in\nsuitable garments for so ultra-royal a function. The streets, the\nhouses, even the throngs that peopled the way, seemed to be of the\nmost lustrous gold, and it became necessary for me from time to time\nas we progressed to close my eyes and shut out the too brilliant\nvision. Fancy a bake-shop built of solid gold nuggets, its large plate\nwindows composed each of one huge, flashing diamond; imagine an\nexquisitely wrought golden drug-store, whose colored jars in the\nwindows are made of rubies, emeralds, and sapphires; conjure up in\nyour mind's eye a sequence of city blocks whose sides are lined by\nmassive and exquisitely proportioned buildings, every inch of whose\nfacade was fashioned, not by stone-cutters and sculptors, but by\ngoldsmiths, whose genius a Cellini might envy; picture to yourself a\nstreet paved with golden asphalt, and a sidewalk built from huge slabs\nof rolled silver, the curb and gutters being of burnished copper, and\nyou'll gain some idea of the thoroughfare along which I passed. And\noh, the music that the band gave forth to which the populace timed\ntheir huzzas--I nearly went mad with the seductiveness of it all. If\nit hadn't been for the ache the brilliance of it gave to my eyes, I\nreally think I should have swooned.\n\nAnd then we came to the palace grounds. These, I must confess, I found\nfar from pleasing, for even as the avenue along which I had passed was\nall gold and silver and gems, so too was the park, in the heart of\nwhich stood Jupiter's own apartments made of similar stuff. The trees\nwere golden, and the leaves rustling in the breeze, catching and\nreflecting the light of the sun, were blinding. The soft greenness of\nthe earthly grass was superseded by the glistening yellow of golden\nspears, and here and there, where a drop of dew would have fallen,\nwere diamonds of purest ray. The paths were of silken rugs of richest\ntexture, and the palace, as it burst upon my vision, fashioned out of\nundreamed-of blocks of onyx, resembled more a massive opal filled\nwith flashing, living, fire, than the mere home of a splendid royalty.\n\nI was glad when the procession stopped before the gorgeous entrance to\nthe palace. Another minute of such splendor would have blinded me. A\nfanfare of trumpets sounded, and I descended, so dizzy with what I had\nseen that, as my feet touched the ground, I staggered like a drunken\nman, and then I heard my name sounded and passed from one flunky to\nanother up the magnificent staircase into the blue haze of the\nhallway, and gradually sounding fainter and fainter until it was lost\nin the distance of the mysterious corridor. I still staggered as I\nmounted the steps, and the Major Domo approached me.\n\n\"I trust you are not ill,\" he whispered in my ear.\n\n\"No--not ill,\" I replied. \"Only somewhat flabbergasted by all this\nmagnificence, and my eyes hurt like the very deuce.\"\n\n\"It is perhaps too much for mortal eyes,\" he said; and then, turning\nto a gilded Ethiopian who stood close at hand, he observed, quietly,\n\"Rhadamus, run over to the Argus and ask him if he can spare this\ngentleman a pair of blue goggles for an hour or two.\"\n\n\"Better get me a dozen pairs,\" I put in. \"I don't think one pair will\nbe enough. It may strain my nose to hold them, but I'd rather\nsacrifice my nose than my eyes any day.\"\n\nBut the boy was off, and ere I reached the presence of Jupiter I was\nvery kindly provided with the very essential article, and I must\nconfess that I found great relief in them. They were so densely blue\nthat an ordinary bit of splendor could not have been discerned through\ntheir opaque depths, any more than Thisbe could have been seen by her\ndoting lover, Pyramus, through the wall that separated them, but\nnothing known to man could have shut out the supreme gloriousness of\nthe interior of Jupiter's palace. Even with the goggles of the Argus\nregulated to protect one thousand eyes upon my nose, it made my\ndazzled optics blink.\n\nI do not know what the proportions of the palace were. I regret to say\nthat I forgot to ask, but I am quite confident that I walked at least\neight miles along that corridor, and never was a mansion designed that\nwas better equipped in the matter of luxuries. I suspect I shall be\ncharged with exaggerating, but it is none the less true that within\nthat spacious building were appliances of every sort known to man. One\ndoor opened upon an in-door golf-links, upon which the royal family\nplayed whenever they lacked the energy or the disposition to seek out\nthat on Mars. There were high bunkers, the copse of which was covered\nwith richest silk plush, stuffed, I was told, with spun silk, while,\nin place of sand, tons of powdered sugar and grated nutmegs filled the\nbunkers themselves. The eighteen holes were laid out so that no two of\nthem crossed, and, inasmuch as the turf was constructed of rubber\ninstead of grass and soil, neither a bad lie nor a dead ball was\npossible through the vast extent of the fair green. The water hazards,\nfour in number, were nothing more nor less than huge tanks of\nBurgundy, champagne, iced tea, and Scotch--which I subsequently\nlearned often resulted in a bad caddie service--and an open brook\nalong whose dashing descent a constant stream of shandygaff went\nmerrily bubbling onward to an in-door sea upon which Jupiter exercised\nhis yacht when sailing was the thing to suit his immediate whim.\n\nThis sea was a marvel. Since all the water hazards above described\nemptied into it, it was little more than a huge expanse of punch, one\nswallow of which, thanks to these ingredients and the sugar and nutmeg\nfrom the bunkers, would make a man forget an eternity of troubles\nuntil he woke up again, if he ever did. Here Jupiter sported every\nvariety of pleasure craft, and, by an ingenious system of funnels\narranged about its sixty-square-mile area, could at a moment's notice\nproduce any variety of breeze he chanced to wish; and its submarine\nbottom was so designed that if a heavy sea were wanted to make the\nyacht pitch and toss, a simple mechanical device would cause it to\nhump itself into such corrugations, large or small, as were needed to\nbring about the desired conditions.\n\n\"Do they allow bathing in that?\" I asked, as the Major Domo explained\nthe peculiar feature of this in-door sea to me.\n\nMy companion laughed. \"Only one person ever tried it with any degree\nof success, and it nearly cost him his reputation. Old Bacchus\nundertook to swim on a wager from Chambertin Inlet to Glenlivet Bay,\nbut he had to give up before he got as far as Pommery Point. It took\nhim a year to get rid of his headache, and it actually required\nthree-quarters of the Treasury Reserve to provide gold enough to cure\nhim.\"\n\n\"It must be a terrible place to fall overboard in,\" I suggested.\n\n\"It is, if you fall head first,\" said the Major Domo, \"and my\nobservation is that most people do.\"\n\n\"I should admire to sail upon it,\" I said, gazing back through the\ndoor that opened upon Jupiter's yachting parlors, and realizing on a\nsudden a powerful sense of thirst.\n\n\"I have no doubt you can do so,\" said the Major Domo. \"Indeed, I\nunderstand that his Majesty contemplates taking you for a sail to the\nlost island of Atlantis before you return to earth.\"\n\n\"What?\" I cried. \"The lost island of Atlantis here?\"\n\n\"Of course,\" said my guide. \"Why not? It was too beautiful for earth,\nso Jupiter had it transported to his own private yachting pond, and it\nhas been here ever since. It is marvellously beautiful.\"\n\nHardly had I recovered from my amazement over the Major Domo's\nannouncement when he pointed to another open door.\n\n\"The Royal Arena,\" he said, simply. \"That is where we have our\nOlympian Games. There was a football game there yesterday. Too bad you\nwere not there. It was the liveliest game of the season. All Hades\nplayed the Olympian eleven for the championship of the universe. We\nlicked 'em four hundred to nothing; but of course we had an\nexceptional team. When Hercules is in shape there isn't a man-jack in\nall Hades that can withstand him. He's rush-line, centre, full-back,\nhalf-back, and flying wedge, all rolled into one. Then the Hades chaps\nmade the bad mistake of sending a star team. When you have an eleven\nmade up of Hannibal and Julius Caesar and Alexander the Great and\nNapoleon Bonaparte and the Duke of Wellington and Achilles and other\nfellows like that you can't expect any team-play. Each man is thinking\nabout himself all the time. Hercules could walk right through 'em,\nand, when they begin to pose, it's mere child's play for him. The only\nchap that put up any game against us at all was Samson, and I tell\nyou, now that his hair's grown again, he's a demon on the gridiron.\nBut we divided up our force to meet that difficulty. Hercules put the\nrest of our eleven on to Samson, while he took care, personally, of\nall the other Hadesians. And you should have seen how he handled them!\nIt was beautiful, all through. He nearly got himself ruled off in the\nsecond half. He became so excited at one time towards the end that he\nmistook Pompey for the ball and kicked him through the goal-posts from\nthe forty-yard line. Of course, it didn't count, and Hercules\napologized so gracefully to the rest of the visitors that they\nwithdrew their protest and let him play on.\"\n\n\"I should think he would have apologized to Pompey,\" said I.\n\n[Illustration: \"'THE CHAMPIONSHIP OF THE UNIVERSE'\"]\n\n\"He will when Pompey recovers consciousness,\" said my guide, simply.\n\nSo interested was I in the Royal Arena and its recent game that I\nforgot all about Jupiter.\n\n\"I never thought of Hercules as a football player before,\" I said,\n\"but it is easy to see how he might become the champion of Olympus.\"\n\n\"Oh, is it!\" laughed the Major Domo. \"Well, you'd better not tell\nJupiter that. Jupiter'd be pleased, he would. Why, my dear friend,\nhe'd pack you back to earth quicker than a wink. He brooks only one\nchampion of anything here, and that's himself. Hercules threw him in a\nwrestling-match once, and the next day Jupiter turned him into a\nweeping-willow, and didn't let up on him for five hundred years\nafterwards.\"\n\nBy this time we had reached one of the most superbly vaulted chambers\nit has ever been my pleasure to look upon. Above me the ceiling\nseemed to reach into infinity, and on either side were huge recesses\nand alcoves of almost unfathomable depth, lit by great balls of fire\nthat diffused their light softly and yet brilliantly through all parts\nand corners of the apartment.\n\n\"The library,\" said the Major Domo, pointing to tier upon tier of\nteeming shelves, upon which stood a wonderful array of exquisitely\nbound volumes to a number past all counting.\n\nI was speechless with the grandeur of it all.\n\n\"It is sublime,\" said I. \"How many volumes?\"\n\n\"Unnumbered, and unnumberable by mortals, but in round, immortal\nfigures just one jovillion.\"\n\n\"One jovillion, eh?\" said I. \"How many is that in mortal figures?\"\n\n\"A jovillion is the supreme number,\" explained the guide. \"It is the\ninfinity of millions, and therefore cannot be expressed in mortal\nterms.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said I, \"you can have no more books.\"\n\n\"No,\" said he. \"But what of that? We have all there are and all that\nare to be. You see, the library is divided into three parts. On the\nright-hand side are all the books that ever have been written; here to\nthe left you see all the books that are being written; and farther\nalong, beginning where that staircase rises, are all the books that\never will be written.\"\n\nI gasped. If this were true, this wonderful collection must contain my\nown complete works, some of which I have doubtless not even thought of\nas yet. How easy it would be for me, I thought, to write my future\nbooks if Jupiter would only let me loose here with a competent\nstenographer to copy off the pages of manuscript as yet undreamed of!\nI suggested this to the Major Domo.\n\n\"He wouldn't let you,\" he said. \"It would throw the whole scheme out\nof gear.\"\n\n\"I don't see why,\" I ventured.\n\n\"It is simple,\" rejoined the Major Domo. \"If you were permitted to\nread the books that some day will be identified with your name, as a\nsensible man, observing beforehand how futile and trivial they are to\nbe, some of them, you wouldn't write them, and so you would be able to\navoid a part, at least, of your destiny. If mortals were able to do\nthat--well, they'd become immortals, a good many of them.\"\n\nI realized the justice of this precaution, and we passed on in\nsilence.\n\n\"Now,\" said the Major Domo, after we had traversed the length of the\nlibrary, \"we are almost there. That gorgeous door directly ahead of\nyou is the entrance to Jupiter's reception-room. Before we enter,\nhowever, we must step into the office of Midas, on the left.\"\n\n\"Midas?\" I said. \"And what, pray, is his function? Is he the\nregistrar?\"\n\n\"No, indeed,\" laughed the Major Domo. \"I presume down where you live\nhe would be called the Court Tailor. The sartorial requirements of\nJupiter are so regal that none of his guests, invited or otherwise,\ncould afford, even with the riches of Cr[oe]sus, to purchase the\napparel which he demands. Hence he keeps Midas here to supply, at his\nexpense, the garments in which his visitors may appear before him. You\ndidn't think you were going into Jupiter's presence in those golf\nduds, did you?\"\n\n\"I never thought anything about it,\" said I. \"But how long will it\ntake Midas to fit me out?\"\n\n\"He touches your garments, that's all,\" said my guide, \"and in that\ninstant they are changed to robes of richest gold. We then place a\nnecklace of gems about your neck, composed of rubies, emeralds,\namethysts, and sapphires, alternating with pearls, none smaller than a\nhen's egg; next we place a jewelled staff of ebony in your hand; a\ngolden helmet, having at either side the burnished wings of the\nimperial eagles of Jove, and bearing upon its crest an opal that\nglistens like the sun through the slight haze of a translucent cloud,\nwill be placed upon your head; richly decorated sandals of cloth of\ngold will adorn your feet, and about your waist a girdle of linked\ndiamonds--beside which the far-famed Orloff diamond of the Russian\ntreasury is an insignificant bit of glass--will be clasped.\"\n\n\"And--wha--wha--what becomes of all this when I get back home?\" I\ngasped, a vision of future ease rising before my tired eyes.\n\n\"You take it with you, if you can,\" laughed the Major Domo, with a sly\nwink at one of the Amazons who accompanied him as a sort of aide.\n\nIt was all as he said. In two minutes I had entered the room of Midas;\nin three minutes, my golf-coat having been removed, a flowing gown of\nsilk, touched by his magic hand and turned to glittering gold, rested\nupon my shoulders. It was pretty heavy, but I bore up under it; the\nhelmet and the necklace, the shoes and the girdle were adjusted; the\nstaff was placed in my hand, and with beating heart I emerged once\nmore into the corridor and stood before the door leading into the\naudience-chamber.\n\n\"Remove the goggles,\" whispered the Major Domo.\n\n\"Never!\" I cried. \"I shall be blinded.\"\n\n\"Nonsense!\" said he, quickly. \"Off with them,\" and he flicked them\nfrom my nose himself.\n\nA great blare of trumpets sounded, the door was thrown wide, and with\na cry of amazement I stepped backward, awed and afraid; but one glance\nwas reassuring, for truly a wonderful sight confronted me, and one\nthat will prove as surprising to him who reads as it was to me upon\nthat marvellous day.\n\n\n\n\nX\n\nAn Extraordinary Interview\n\n\nI had expected to witness a scene of grandeur, and my fancy had\nconjured up, as the central figure thereof, the majestic form of Jove\nhimself, clad in imperial splendor. But it was the unexpected that\nhappened, for, as the door closed behind me, I found myself in a plain\nsort of workshop, such as an ordinary man would have in his own house,\nat one end of which stood a rolling-top desk, and, instead of the\ndazzling throne I had expected to see, there stood in front of it an\nordinary office-chair that twirled on a pivot. Books and papers were\nstrewn about the floor and upon the tables; the pictures on the walls\nwere made up largely of colored sporting prints of some rarity, and in\na corner stood a commonplace globe such as is to be found in use in\npublic schools to teach children geography. As I glanced about me my\nfirst impression was that by some odd mischance I had got into the\nwrong room, which idea was fortified by the fact that, instead of an\nimperial figure clad in splendid robes, a quiet-looking old gentleman,\nwho, except for his dress, might have posed for a cartoon of the\naccepted American Populist, stood before me. He was dressed in a plain\nfrock-coat, four-in-hand tie, high collar, dark-gray trousers, and\npatent-leather boots, and was brushing up a silk hat as I entered.\n\n\"Excuse me, sir,\" I said, \"but I--I fear I have stumbled into the\nwrong room. I--ah--I have had the wholly unexpected honor to be\ngranted an audience with Jupiter, and I was told that this was the\naudience-chamber.\"\n\n\"Don't apologize. Sit down,\" he replied, taking me by the hand and\nshaking it cordially. \"You are all right; I'm glad to see you. How\ngoes the world with you?\"\n\n\"Very well indeed, sir,\" I replied, rather embarrassed by the old\nfellow's cordiality. \"But I really can't sit down, because, you know,\nI--I don't want to keep his Majesty waiting, and if you'll excuse me,\nI'll--\"\n\n\"Oh, nonsense!\" he retorted. \"Let the old man wait. Sit down and talk\nto me. I don't get a chance to talk with mortals very often. This is\nyour first visit to Olympus?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" I said, still standing. \"And it is wholly unexpected. I\nstumbled upon the place by the merest chance last night--but you\n_must_ let me go, sir. I'll come back later very gladly and talk with\nyou if I get a chance. It will never do for me to keep his Majesty\nwaiting, you know.\"\n\n\"Oh, the deuce with his Majesty,\" said the old gentleman, testily.\n\"What do you want to see him for? He's an old fossil.\"\n\n\"Granted,\" said I. \"Still, I'm interested in old fossils.\"\n\nThe old gentleman roared with laughter at this apparently simple\nremark. I didn't see the fun of it myself, and his mirth irritated me.\n\n\"Excuse me, my dear sir,\" I said, trying to control my impatience.\n\"But you don't seem to understand my position. I can't stay here and\ntalk to you while the ruler of Olympus waits. Can't you see that?\"\n\n\"No, I can't,\" he replied. \"Can't see it at all, and I'm a pretty good\nseer as a general thing, too. If you didn't wish to see me, you had\nno business to come into my room. Now that you are here, I'm going to\nkeep you for a little while. Take off that absurd-looking tile and sit\ndown.\"\n\nAt this I grew angry. I wasn't responsible for the helmet I wore, and\nI had felt all along that I looked like an ass in it.\n\n\"I'll do nothing of the sort, you confounded old meddler,\" I cried.\n\"I've come here on invitation, and, if I've got into the wrong room,\nit isn't my fault. That jackass of a Major Domo told me this was the\nplace. Let me out.\"\n\nI strode to the doorway, and the old gentleman turned to his desk and\nopened a drawer.\n\n\"Cigar or cigarette?\" he said, calmly.\n\n\"Neither, you old fool,\" I retorted, turning the knob and tugging upon\nit. \"I have no time for a smoke.\"\n\nThe door was locked. The old gentleman settled back in his twirling\nchair and regarded me with a twinkle in his eye as I vainly tried to\npull the door open, and I realized that I was helpless.\n\n\"Better sit down and enjoy a quiet smoke with me,\" he said, calmly.\n\"Take off that absurd-looking tile and talk to me.\"\n\n\"I haven't anything to say to you,\" I replied. \"Not a word. Do you\nintend to let me out of this or not?\"\n\n\"All in good time--all in good time,\" he said. \"Let's talk it over.\nWhy do you wish to go? Don't you find me good company?\"\n\n\"You're a stupid old idiot!\" I shouted, almost weeping with rage.\n\"Locking me up in your rotten old den here when you must realize what\nyou are depriving me of. What earthly good it does you I can't see.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"THE DOOR WAS LOCKED\"]\n\n\"It does me lots of good,\" he said, with a chuckle. \"Really, sir, it\ngives me a new sensation--first new sensation I have had in a long,\nlong time. Let me see now, just how many names have you called me in\nthe three minutes I have had the pleasure of your acquaintance?\"\n\n\"Give me time, and I'll call you a lot more,\" I retorted, sullenly.\n\n\"Good--I'll give you the time,\" he said. \"Go ahead. I'll listen to you\nfor a whole hour. What am I besides a meddler, and a stupid old idiot,\nand an old fool?\"\n\n\"You're a gray-headed maniac, and a--a zinc-fastened Zany. A doddering\ndotard and a chimerical chump,\" I said.\n\n\"Splendid!\" roared he, with a spasm of laughter that seemed nearly to\nrend him. \"Go on. Keep it up. I am enjoying myself hugely.\"\n\n\"You're a sneak-livered poltroon to treat me this way,\" I added,\nindignantly.\n\n\"That's the best yet,\" he interrupted, slapping his knee with delight.\n\"Sneak-livered poltroon, eh? Well, well, well. Go on. Go on.\"\n\n\"If you'll give me a copy of Roget's _Thesaurus_, I'll tell you what\nelse you are,\" I retorted, with a note of sarcasm in my voice. \"It\nwill require a reference to that book to do you justice. I can't begin\nto carry all that you are in my mind.\"\n\n\"With pleasure,\" said he, and reaching over to his bookcase he took\nthence the desired volume and handed it to me. \"Proceed,\" he added. \"I\nam all ears.\"\n\n\"Most jackasses are,\" I returned, savagely.\n\n\"Magnificent,\" he cried, ecstatically. \"You are a genius at epithet.\nBut there's the book. Let me light a cigar for you and then you can\nbegin. Only _do_ take off that absurd tile. You don't know how\nsupremely unbecoming it is.\"\n\nThere was nothing for it, so I resolved to make the best of it by\nmeeting the disagreeable old pantaloon on his own ground. I lit one of\nhis cigars and sat down to tell the curious old freak what I thought\nof him. Ordinarily I would have avoided doing this, but his tyrannical\nexercise of his temporary advantage made me angry to the very core of\nmy being.\n\n\"Ready?\" said I.\n\n\"Quite,\" said he. \"Don't stint yourself. Just behave as if you'd known\nme all your life. I sha'n't mind.\"\n\nAnd I began: \"Well, after referring to the word 'idiot' in the index,\njust to get a lead,\" I said, \"I shall begin by saying that you are\nevidently a hebetudinous imbecile, an indiscriminate stult--\"\n\n\"Hold on!\" he cried. \"What's that last? I never heard the term\nbefore.\"\n\n\"Stult--an indiscriminate stult,\" I said, scornfully. \"I invented the\nword myself. Real words won't describe you. Stult is a new term,\nmeaning all kinds of a fool, plus two. And I've got a few more if you\nwant them.\"\n\n\"Want them?\" he cried. \"By Vulcan, I dote upon them! They are nectar\nto my thirsty ears. Go on.\"\n\n\"You are a senseless frivoler, a fugacious gid, an infamous\nhoddydoddy; you are a man with the hoe with the emptiness of ages in\nyour face; you are a brother to the ox, with all the dundering\nniziness of a plain, ordinary buzzard added to your shallow-brained\nasininity. Now will you let me go?\"\n\n\"Not I,\" said he, shaking his head as if he relished a situation which\nwas gradually making a madman of me. \"I'd like to oblige you, but I\nreally can't. You are giving me too much pleasure. Is there nothing\nmore you can call me?\"\n\n\"You're a dizzard!\" I retorted. \"And a noodle and a jolt-head; you're\na jobbernowl and a doodle, a maundering mooncalf and a blockheaded\nnumps, a gaby and a loon; you're a _Hatter_!\" I shrieked the last\nepithet.\n\n\"Heavens!\" he cried, \"A Hatter! Am I as bad as that?\"\n\n\"Oh, come now,\" I said, closing the _Thesaurus_ with a bang. \"Have\nsome regard for my position, won't you?\"\n\nI had resolved to appeal to his better nature. \"I don't know who the\ndickens you are. You may be the three wise men of Gotham who went to\nsea in a bowl rolled into one, for all I know. You may be any old\nthing. I don't give a tinker's cuss what you are. Under ordinary\ncircumstances I've no doubt I should find you a very pleasant old\ngentleman, but under present conditions you are a blundering old\nbore.\"\n\n\"That's not bad--indeed, a blundering old bore is pretty good. Let me\nsee,\" he continued, looking up the word \"bore\" in the index of the\n_Thesaurus_, \"What else am I? Maybe I'm an unmitigated nuisance, an\nexasperating and egregious glum, a carking care, and a pestiferous\npill, eh?\"\n\n\"You are all of that,\" I said, wearily. \"Your meanness surpasseth all\nthings. I've met a good many tough characters in my day, but you are\nthe first I have ever encountered without a redeeming feature. You\ntake advantage of a mistake for which I am not at all responsible, and\nwhat do you do?\"\n\n\"Tell me,\" he replied. \"What do I do? I shall be delighted to hear.\nI've been asking myself that question for years. What do I do? Go on,\nI implore you.\"\n\n\"You rub it in, that's what,\" I retorted. \"You take advantage of me.\nYou bait me; you incommode me. You--you--\"\n\n\"Here, take the _Thesaurus_,\" he said, as I hesitated for the word.\n\"It will help you. I provoke you, I irritate you, I make you mad, I\nsour your temper, I sicken, disgust, revolt, nauseate, repel you. I\nrankle your soul. I jar you--is that it?\"\n\n\"Give me the book,\" I cried, desperately. \"Yes!\" I added, referring to\nthe page. \"You tease, irk, harry, badger, infest, persecute. You gall,\nsting, and convulse me. You are a plain old beast, that's what you\nare. You're a conscienceless sneak and a wherret--you mean-souled blot\non the face of nature!\"\n\nHere I broke down and wept, and the old gentleman's sides shook with\nlaughter. He was, without exception, the most extraordinary old person\nI had ever encountered, and in my tears I cursed the English language\nbecause it was inadequate properly to describe him.\n\nFor a time there was silence. I was exhausted and my tormentor was\ngiven over to his own enjoyment of my discomfiture. Finally, however,\nhe spoke.\n\n\"I'm a pretty old man, my dear fellow,\" he said. \"I shouldn't like to\ntell you how old, because if I did you'd begin on the _Thesaurus_\nagain with the word 'liar' for your lead. Nevertheless, I'm pretty\nold; but I want to say to you that in all my experience I have never\nhad so diverting a half-hour as you have given me. You have been so\noutspoken, so frank--\"\n\n\"Oh, indeed--I've been frank, have I?\" I interrupted. \"Well, what I\nhave said isn't a marker to what I'd like to have said and would have\nsaid if language hadn't its limitations. You are the infinity of the\nunmitigated, the supreme of the superfluous. In unqualified,\ninexcusable, unsurpassable meanness you are the very IT!\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said the old gentleman, rising and bowing, \"you are a man of\nunusual penetration, and I like you. I should like to see more of you,\nbut your hour has expired. I thank you for your pleasant words, and I\nbid you an affectionate good-morning.\"\n\nA deep-toned bell struck the hour of twelve. A fanfare of trumpets\nsounded outside, and the huge door flew open, and without a word in\nreply, glad of my deliverance, I turned and fled precipitately through\nit. The sumptuous guard stood outside to receive me, and as the door\nclosed behind me the band struck up a swelling measure that I shall\nnot soon forget.\n\n\"Well,\" said the Major Domo, as we proceeded back to my quarters, \"did\nhe receive you nicely?\"\n\n\"Who?\" said I.\n\n\"Jupiter, of course,\" he said.\n\n\"I didn't see him,\" I replied, sadly. \"I fell in with a beastly old\nbore who wouldn't let go of me. You showed me into the wrong room. Who\nwas that old beggar, anyhow?\"\n\n\"Beggar?\" he cried. \"Wrong room? Beggar?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said I. \"Beggar is mild, I admit. But he's all that and\nmuch more. Who is he?\"\n\n\"I don't know what you mean,\" replied the Major Domo. \"But you have\nbeen for the last hour with his Majesty himself.\"\n\n\"What?\" I cried. \"I--that old man--we--\"\n\n\"The old gentleman was Jupiter. Didn't he tell you? He made a special\neffort to make you feel at home--put himself on a purely mortal\nbasis--\"\n\nI fell back, limp and nerveless.\n\n\"What will he think of me?\" I moaned, as I realized what had\nhappened.\n\n[Illustration: \"'WHAT?' I CRIED. 'I--THAT OLD MAN--WE'\"]\n\n\"He thinks you are the best yet,\" said the Major Domo. \"He has sent\nword by his messenger, Mercury, that the honors of Olympus are to be\nshowered upon you to their fullest extent. He says you are the only\nfrank mortal he ever met.\"\n\nAnd with this I was escorted back to my rooms at the hotel, impressed\nwith the idea that all is not lead that doesn't glitter, and when I\nthought of my invention of the word \"stult,\" I began to wish I had\nnever been born.\n\n\n\n\nXI\n\nA Royal Outing\n\n\nAs may be imagined after my untoward interview with Jupiter, the state\nof my mind was far from easy. It is not pleasant to realize that you\nhave applied every known epithet of contempt to a god who has an\noff-hand way of disposing of his enemies by turning them into\napple-trees, or dumb beasts of one kind or another, and upon retiring\nto my room I sat down and waited in great dread of what should happen\nnext. I couldn't really believe that the Major Domo's statement as to\nmy having been forgiven was possible. It predicated too great a\nmagnanimity to be credible.\n\n\"I hope to gracious he won't make a pine-tree of me,\" I groaned,\nvisions of a future in which woodmen armed with axes, and sawmills,\nplayed a conspicuous part, rising up before me. \"I'd hate like time to\nbe sawed up into planks and turned into a Georgia pine floor\nsomewhere.\"\n\nIt was a painful line of thought and I strove to get away from it, but\nwithout success, although the variations were interesting when I\nthought of all the things I might be made into, such as kitchen\ntables, imitation oak bookcases, or perhaps--horror of horrors--a\nbundle of toothpicks! I was growing frantic with fear, when on a\nsudden my reveries of dread were interrupted by a knock on the door.\n\n\"It has come at last!\" I said, and I opened the door, nerving myself\nup to sustain the blow which I believed was impending. Mercury stood\nwithout, flapping the wings that sprouted from his ankles impatiently.\n\n\"The skitomobile is ready, sir,\" he said.\n\nI gazed at him earnestly.\n\n\"The what?\"\n\n\"The skitomobile, to take you to the links. Jupiter has already gone\non ahead, and he has commanded me to follow, bringing you along with\nme.\"\n\n\"Oh--I'm to go to the links, eh? What's he going to do with me when he\ngets me there? Turn me into a golf-ball and drive me off into space?\"\nI inquired.\n\nMy heart sank at the very idea, but I was immediately reassured by\nMercury's hearty laugh.\n\n\"Of course not--why should he? He's going to play you an\neighteen-hole match. You've made a great impression on the old\ngentleman.\"\n\n\"Thank Heaven!\" I said. \"I'll hurry along and join him before he\nchanges his mind.\"\n\nIn a brief while I was ready, and, escorted by Mercury, I was taken to\nthe skitomobile which stood at the exit from the hall to the outer\nroadway nearest my room. Seated in front of this, and acting as\nchauffeur, was a young man whom I recognized at once as Phaeton.\nAlongside of him sat Jason, polishing up the most beautiful set of\ngolf-clubs I ever saw. The irons were of wrought gold, and the shafts\nof the most highly polished and exquisite woods.\n\n\"To the links,\" said Mercury, and with a sudden chug-chug, and a jerk\nwhich nearly threw me out of the conveyance, we were off. And what a\nride it was! At first the sensation was that of falling, and I\nclutched nervously at the sides of the skitomobile, but by slow\ndegrees I got used to it, and enjoyed one of the most exhilarating\nhours that has ever entered into my experience.\n\nPlanet after planet was passed as we sped on and on upward, and as my\ndelight grew I gave utterance to it.\n\n\"Jove! But this is fine!\" I said. \"I never knew anything like it,\nexcept looping the loop.\"\n\nPhaeton grinned broadly and winked at Jason.\n\n\"How would you like to loop the loop out here?\" the latter asked.\n\n\"What? In a machine like this?\" I cried.\n\n\"Certainly,\" said Jason. \"It's great sport. Give him the twist,\nPhaeton.\"\n\nI began to grow anxious again, for I recalled the past careless\nmethods of Phaeton, and I had no wish to go looping the loop through\nthe empyrean with one of his known adventurous disposition, to be\nhurled unceremoniously sooner or later perhaps into the sun itself.\n\n\"Perhaps we'd better leave it until some other day,\" I ventured,\ntimidly.\n\n\"No time like the present,\" Jason retorted. \"Only hang on to yourself.\nAll ready, Phaety!\"\n\nThe chauffeur grasped the lever, and, turning it swiftly to one side,\nthere in the blue vault of heaven, a thousand miles from anywhere,\nthat machine began executing the most remarkable flip-flaps the mind\nof man ever conceived. Not once or twice, but a hundred times did we\ngo whirling round and round through the skies, until finally I got so\nthat I could not tell if I were right side up or upside down. It was\ngreat sport, however, and but for the fact that on the third trial I\nlost my grip and would have fallen head over heels through space had\nnot Mercury, who was flying alongside of the machine, swooped down and\ncaught me by the leg as I fell out, I found it as exhilarating as it\nwas novel. I could have kept it up forever, had we not shortly hove in\nsight of the links, which, as I have already told you, were located on\nthe planet Mars; and such gorgeousness as I there encountered was\nunparalleled on earth. Much that we earth-folk have wondered at became\nclear at once. The great canals, as we call them, for instance, turned\nout to be vast sand-bunkers that glistened like broad rivers of silver\nin the wondrous sheen of the planet, while the dark greenish spots,\nconcerning which our astronomers have speculated so variously, were\nnothing more nor less than putting-greens. It is extraordinary that\nuntil my visit to the planet as the guest of Jupiter, this perfectly\nsimple solution of the various Martian problems was not even guessed.\n\nAs we drew up at the pretty little club-house, Jupiter emerged from\nthe door and greeted me cordially. My eyes fell before his smiling\ngaze, for I must confess I was mighty shamefaced over my experience of\nthe morning, but his manner restored my self-possession. It was very\ngenial and forgiving.\n\n\"Glad to see you again,\" he said. \"If you play golf as well as you do\nsynonyms you're a scratch man. You didn't foozle a syllable.\"\n\n\"I should have, had I known as much as I do now,\" said I.\n\n\"Well, I'm glad you didn't know,\" Jupiter returned majestically, \"for\nI can use that word stult in my business. Now suppose we have a bit of\nluncheon and then start out.\"\n\nAfter eating sparingly we began our game. I was provided with a caddie\nthat looked like one of Raphael's angels, and Jupiter himself handed\nme a driver from his own bag.\n\n\"You'll have to be careful how you use it,\" he said; \"it has\nproperties which may astonish you.\"\n\nI teed up my ball, swung back, and then with all the vigor at my\ncommand whacked the ball square and true. It sprang from the tee like\na bird let loose and flew beyond my vision, and while I was trying\nwith my eye to keep up with it in its flight, I received a stinging\nblow on the back of my head which felled me to the ground.\n\n\"Thunderation!\" I roared. \"What was that?\"\n\nJupiter laughed. \"It was your own ball,\" he said. \"You put too much\nmuscle into that stroke, and, as a consequence, the ball flew all the\nway round the planet and clipped you from behind.\"\n\n\"You don't mean to say--\" I began.\n\n\"Yes, I do,\" said Jupiter. \"That is a special long-distance driver\nmade for me. Only had it two days. It is not easy to use, because it\nhas such wonderful force. Hercules drove a ball three times around the\nplanet at one stroke with it yesterday. To use it properly requires\njudgment. Up here you have to play golf with your head, as well as\nwith your clubs.\"\n\n\"Well, I played it with mine all right,\" I put in, rubbing the lump on\nthe back of my head ruefully. \"Shall I play two?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said Jupiter. \"You've a good brassey lie behind the tee\nthere. Play gently now, for this hole isn't more than three hundred\nmiles long.\"\n\nMy brassey stroke is one of my best, and I did myself proud. The ball\nflew about one hundred and seventy-nine miles in a straight line, but\nlanded in a sand-bunker. Jupiter followed with a good clean drive for\ntwo hundred miles, breaking all the records previously stated to me by\nAdonis, whereupon we entered the skitomobile and were promptly\ntransported to the edge of the bunker, where my ball reposed upon the\nglistening sand. It took three to get out, owing to the height of the\ncop, which rose a trifle higher in the air than Mount Blanc, but the\nniblick Jason had brought along for my use, as soon as I got used to\nthe titanic quality of the game I was playing, was finally equal to\nthe loft. My ball landed just short of the green, one hundred and\nsixteen miles away. Jupiter foozled his approach, and we both reached\nthe edge of the green in four.\n\n\"Bully distance for a putt,\" said Jupiter, taking the line from his\nball to the hole.\n\n\"About how far is it?\" I asked, for I couldn't see anything\nresembling a hole within a mile of me.\n\n\"Oh, five miles, I imagine,\" was the answer. \"Put on these glasses and\nyou'll see the disk.\"\n\nMy courteous host handed me a pair of spectacles which I put upon my\nnose, and there, seemingly two inches away, but in reality five and a\nquarter miles, was the hole. The glasses were a revelation, but I had\nseen too much that was wonderful to express surprise.\n\n\"Dead easy,\" I said, referring to the putt, now that I had the glasses\non.\n\n\"Looks so,\" said Jupiter, \"but be careful. You can't hope to putt\nuntil you know your ball.\"\n\nAt the moment I did not understand, but a minute after I had a shock.\nPutting perfectly straight, the ball rolled easily along and then made\na slight hitch backward, as if I had put a cut on it, and struck off\nahead, straight as an arrow but to the left of the disk. This it\ncontinued to do in its course, zigzagging more and more out of the\nstraight line until it finally stopped, quite two and a half miles\nfrom the cup.\n\n\"Now watch me,\" said Jupiter. \"You'll get an idea of how the ball\nworks.\"\n\nI obeyed, and was surprised to see him aim at a point at least a mile\naside of the mark, but the results were perfect, for the gutty, acting\nprecisely as mine did, zigzagged along until it reached the rim of the\ncup and then dropped gently in.\n\n\"One up,\" said Jupiter, with a broad smile as he watched my\nill-repressed wonderment.\n\nAs we were transported to the next tee by Phaeton and his machine, I\nlooked at my ball, and the peculiarity of its make became clear at\nonce. It was called \"The Vulcan,\" and in action had precisely the\nsame movement as that of a thunder-bolt--thus:\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\"Great ball, eh?\" said Jupiter. \"Adds a lot to the science of the\ngame. A straight putt is easy, but the zigzag is no child's play.\"\n\n\"I think I shall like it,\" I said, \"if I ever get used to it.\"\n\nThe second hole reached, I was astonished to see a huge apparatus like\na cannon on the tee, and in fact that is what it turned out to be.\n\n\"We call this the Cannon Hole,\" said Jupiter. \"It lends variety to the\ngame. It's a splendid test of your accuracy, and if you don't make it\nin one you lose it. If you will put on those glasses you will see the\nhole, which is in the middle of a target. You've got to go through it\nat one stroke.\"\n\n\"That isn't golf, is it?\" I asked. \"It's marksmanship.\"\n\n\"I call it so,\" said Jupiter, calmly. \"And what I say goes. Moreover,\nit requires much skill to offset the effect of the wind.\"\n\n\"But there is none,\" said I.\n\n\"There will be,\" said Jupiter, putting his ball in the cannon's breach\nand making ready to drive. \"You see those huge steel affairs on either\nside of the course, that look like the ventilators on an ocean\nsteamer?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said I, for as I looked I perceived that this part of the\ncourse was studded with them.\n\n\"Well, they supply the wind,\" said Jupiter. \"I just ring a bell and\nAEolus sets his bellows going, and I tell you the winds you get are\ncyclonic, and, best of all, they blow in all directions. From the\nfirst ventilator the wind is northeast by south; from the second it\nis southwest by north-northeast; from the third it is straight north,\nand so on. Winds are blowing at the moment of play from all possible\npoints of the compass. Fore!\"\n\nA bell rang, and never in a wide experience in noises had I ever\nbefore heard such a fearful din as followed. A hurricane sprang from\none point, a gale from another, a cyclone from a third--such an aeolian\npurgatory was never let loose in my sight before, but Jupiter, gauging\neach and all, fired his ball from the cannon, and it sped on, buffeted\nhere and there, now up, now down, like a bit of fluff in the chance\nzephyrs of the spring-tide, but ultimately passing through the hole in\nthe target, and landing gently in a basket immediately behind the\nbull's-eye. The winds immediately died down, and all was quiet again.\n\n\"Perfectly great!\" I said, with enthusiasm, for it did seem\nmarvellous. \"But I don't think I can do it. You win, of course.\"\n\n\"Not at all,\" said Jupiter. \"If you hit the bull's-eye, as I did, you\nwin.\"\n\n\"And you lose in spite of that splendid--er--stroke?\" I asked.\n\n\"Oh no--not at all,\" said Jupiter. \"We both win.\"\n\nAgain the bell rang, and the winds blew, and the cannon shot, but my\nball, under the excitement of the moment of aiming, was directed not\ntowards the bull's-eye--or the hole--but at the skitomobile. It hit it\nfairly and hard, and it smashed the engine by which the machine was\npropelled, much to the consternation of Jason and Phaeton.\n\n\"Unfortunate,\" said Jupiter. \"Very. But never mind. We don't have to\nwalk home.\"\n\n\"I'm awfully sorry,\" said I. \"I--er--\"\n\n\"Never mind,\" said Jupiter. \"It is easily repaired, but we cannot go\non with the game. The next hole is eight thousand miles long. Twice\naround the planet, and we couldn't possibly walk it, so we'll have to\nquit. We've got all we can manage trudging back to the club-house.\nHere, caddies, take our clubs back to the club-house, and tell 'em to\nhave two nectar high-balls ready at six-thirty. Phaeton, you and Jason\nwill have to get back the best way you can. I've told you a half-dozen\ntimes to bring two machines with you, but you never seem to\nunderstand. Come along, Higgins, we'll go back. Shut your eyes.\"\n\nI closed my optics, as ordered, although my name is not Higgins, and I\ndidn't like to have even Jupiter so dub me.\n\n\"Now open them again,\" was the sharp order.\n\nI did so, and lo and behold! by some supernatural power we had been\ntransported back to the club-house.\n\n\"I am sorry, Jupiter,\" said I \"to have spoiled your game,\" as we sat,\nlater, sipping that delicious concoction, the nectar high-ball, which\nwe supplemented with a \"Pegasus's neck.\"\n\n\"Nonsense,\" said he, grandly. \"You haven't spoiled my _game_. You have\nmerely, without meaning to do so, spoiled your own afternoon. My game\nis all right and will remain so. It would have been a great pleasure\nto me to show you the other sixteen holes, but circumstances were\nagainst us. Take your nectar and let us trot along. You dine with Juno\nand myself to-night. Let's see, I was two up, wasn't I?\"\n\n\"Two up, and sixteen to play.\"\n\n\"Then I win,\" said he. It was an extraordinary score, but then it was\nan extraordinary occasion.\n\nAnd we entered his chariot, and were whirled back to Olympus. The ride\nhome was not as exciting as the ride out, but it was interesting. It\nlasted about a half of a millionth of a second, and for the first time\nin my life I knew how a telegram feels when it travels from New York\nto San Francisco, and gets there apparently three hours before it is\nsent by the clock.\n\n\n\n\nXII\n\nI am Dismissed\n\n\nIt was a very interesting programme for my further entertainment that\nJupiter mapped out on our way back from the links, and I deeply regret\nthat an untoward incident that followed later, for which I was\nunintentionally responsible, prevented its being carried out. I was to\nhave been taken off on a cruise on the inland sea, to where the lost\nisland of Atlantis was to be found; a special tournament at ping-pong\nwas to be held in my honor, in which minor planets were to be used\ninstead of balls, and the players were to be drawn from among the\nTitans, who were retained to perform feats of valor, skill, and\nstrength for Jupiter. The forge of Vulcan was to be visited, and many\nof the mysteries of the centre of the earth were to be revealed, and,\nbest of all, Jupiter himself had promised to give me an exhibition of\nhis own skill as a marksman in the hurling of thunder-bolts, and _I\nwas to select the objects to be hit!_ Think of it! What a chance lay\nhere for a man to be rid of certain things on earth that he did not\nlike! What a vast amount of ugly American architecture one could be\nrid of in the twinkling of an eye! What a lot of enemies and eyesores\nit was now in my power to have removed by an electrical process\navailed of in the guise of sport! I spent an hour on that list of\ntargets, and if only I had been allowed to prolong my stay in the home\nof the gods, the world itself would have benefited, for I was not\naltogether personal in my selection of things for Jupiter to aim at.\nThere was Tammany Hall, for instance, and the Boxers of China--these\nled my list. There were four or five sunlight-destroying, sky-scraping\noffice buildings in New York and elsewhere; nuisances of every kind\nthat I could think of were put down--the headquarters of the Beef\nTrust and a few of its sponsors; the editorial offices of the peevish\nand bilious newspapers, which deny principles and right motives to all\nsave themselves; a regiment of alleged humorists who make jokes about\nthe mother-in-law and other sacred relations of life; an opera-box\nfull of the people who hum every number of Wagner and Verdi through,\nand keep other people from hearing the singers; row after row of\ntheatre-goers who come in late and trample over the virtuous folk who\nhave arrived punctually; any number of theatrical managers who mistake\ngloom for amusement; three or four smirking matinee idols, whose\ntalents are measured by the fit of their clothes, the length of their\nhair, and their ability to spit supernumeraries with a tin sword;\ncab-drivers who had overcharged me; insolent railway officials; the\nNew York Central Tunnel--indeed, the completed list stretches on to\nsuch proportions that it would require more pages than this book\ncontains to present them in detail. I even thought of including\nHippopopolis in the list, but when I realized that it was entirely\nowing to his villany that I had enjoyed the delightful privilege of\nvisiting the gods in their own abode, I spared him. And to think that\nbecause of an unintentional error this great opportunity to rid the\nworld, and incidentally myself, of much that is vexatious was wholly\nlost is a matter of sincere grief to myself.\n\nIt happened in this way: Hardly had I returned to my delightful\napartment at the hotel, when a messenger arrived bearing a superbly\nengraved command from Jupiter to dine with himself and Juno _en\nfamille_. It was a kind, courteous, and friendly note, utterly devoid\nof formality, and we were to spend the evening at cards. Jupiter had\nindicated in the afternoon that he would like to learn bridge, and,\ninasmuch as I never travel anywhere without a text-book upon that\nfascinating subject, I had volunteered to teach him. The dinner was\ngiven largely to enable me to do this, and, moreover, Jupiter was\nquite anxious to have me meet his family, and promised me that before\nthe evening was over I should hear some music from the lyre of Apollo,\nmeet all the muses, and enjoy a chafing-dish snack prepared by the\nfair hand of Juno herself.\n\n\"I'll have Polyphemus up to give us a few coon songs if you like\nthem,\" he added, \"and altogether I can promise you a delightful\nevening. We drop all our state at these affairs, and I know you'll\nenjoy yourself.\"\n\n\"I shall feel a trifle embarrassed in the presence of so many gods and\ngoddesses, I am afraid,\" I put in.\n\n\"I'll fix you out as to that,\" Jupiter replied. \"I'll change you for\nthe time being into a god yourself, if you wish.\"\n\nI laughed at the idea.\n\n\"A high old god I'd make,\" said I.\n\n\"You'd pass,\" he observed, quietly. \"I'll call you Pencillius, god of\nChirography--or would you rather come as Nonsensius, the newly\ndiscovered deity of Jocosity?\"\n\n\"I think I'd rather be Zero, god of Nit,\" said I, and it was so\nordained.\n\nOf course, I accepted the invitation and was on hand at the palace,\nas I thought, promptly. As a matter of fact, my watch having in some\nmysterious fashion been affected by the excitement of the adventure,\ngot galloping away just as my own heart had done more than once. The\nresult was that, instead of arriving at the palace at eight o'clock,\nas I was expected to do, I got there at seven. Of course, my exalted\nhosts were not ready to receive me, and there were no other guests to\nbear me company and keep me out of mischief in the drawing-room, where\nfor an hour I was compelled to wait. At first all went well. I found\nmuch entertainment in the room, and on the centre-table, a beautiful\nbit of furniture, carved out of one huge amethyst, I discovered a\nnumber of books and magazines, which kept me tolerably busy for a\nhalf-hour. There was a finely bound copy of _Don'ts for the Gods, or\nCelestial Etiquette_, in which I found many valuable hints on the\nprocedure of Olympian society--notably one injunction as to the use of\nfinger-bowls, from which I learned that the gods in their lavishness\nhave a bowl for each finger; and a little volume by Bacchus on\n_Intemperance_, which I wish I might publish for the benefit of my\nfellow-mortals. All I remember about it at the moment of writing is\nthat the author seriously enjoins upon his readers the wickedness of\ndrinking more than sixty cocktails a day, and utterly deprecates the\nhabit of certain Englishmen of drinking seven bottles of port at a\nsitting. Bacchus seemed to think that, with the other wines incidental\nto a dinner, no one, not even an Englishman, should attempt to absorb\nmore than five bottles of port over his coffee. It struck me as being\nrather good advice.\n\nWearying of the reading at the end of a half-hour, I began a closer\ninspection of the room and its contents. It was full of novelties,\nand, naturally, gorgeous past all description; but what most excited\nmy curiosity was a small cabinet, not unlike a stereoscope in shape,\nwhich stood in one corner of the room. It had a button at one side,\nover which was a gilt tablet marked \"Push.\" On its front was the\nlegend, \"Drop a Nickel in the Slot, Push the Button, and See the\nFuture.\" I followed the instructions eagerly. The nickel was dropped,\nthe button pushed, and, putting my eyes before the lenses, I gazed\ninto the remotest days to come. I had come across the Futuroscope,\notherwise a kinetoscope with the gift of prophecy. The coming year\npassed rapidly, and I saw what fate had in store for the world for the\ntwelve months immediately ahead of me; then followed a decade, then a\ncentury, and then others, until, just as I was approaching the dread\ncataclysm which is to mark the end of all mortal things, I heard a\nquick, startled voice back of me.\n\nIt was that of Jupiter, and his tone was a strange mixture of wrath\nand regret.\n\n\"What on earth have you done?\" he cried.\n\n\"Nothing, your Majesty,\" said I, shaking all over as with the ague at\nthe revelations I had just witnessed, \"except getting a bird's-eye\nview of what is to come.\"\n\n\"I am sorry,\" said he, gravely. \"It is not well that mortals should\nknow the future, and your imprudent act is destructive of all the\nplans I have had for you. You must leave us instantly, for that\ninstrument is for the gods alone. Moreover, the knowledge of that\nwhich you have seen--\"\n\nHere his voice positively thundered, and the frown that came upon his\nbrow filled me with awe and terror.\n\n\"All knowledge of what you have seen must be removed from your brain,\"\nhe added, grimly.\n\nI was speechless with fear as the ruler of Olympus touched an electric\nbutton at the side of the room, and the two huge slaves, Gog and\nMagog, appeared.\n\n\"Seize him!\" Jupiter commanded, sternly.\n\nIn an instant I was bound hand and foot.\n\n\"To the office of Dr. AEsculapius!\" he commanded, and I was\nunceremoniously removed to the room wherein I had had my interview\nwith the great doctor, where I was immediately etherized and my brain\noperated upon. Precisely what was done to me I shall probably never\nknow, but what I do know is that from that time to this all that I\nsaw in that marvellous Futuroscope is a blank, although on all other\nsubjects pertaining to my visit to the gods my recollection is\nperfectly clear. It suffices to say that I lay for a long time in a\nstupor, and when finally I came to my senses again I found myself\ncomfortably ensconced in my own bed, in my own home; not in Greece,\nbut in America; suffering from a dull headache from which I did not\nescape for at least three hours. Again and again and again have I\ntried to recall that wonderful picture of a marvellous future seen by\nmy mortal eyes that night upon Olympus, that I might set it upon paper\nfor others to read, but with each effort the dreadful pain in the top\nof my head returns and I find myself compelled to abandon the project.\n\nSo was my brief visit to Olympus begun and ended. In its results it\nhas perhaps been neither elevating nor remarkably instructive, but it\nhas given me a better understanding of, and a better liking for, that\ngreat company of mythological beings who used to preside over the\ndestinies of the Greeks. They appeared more human than godlike to my\neyes. They were companionable to a degree, and for a time, at least,\nwould prove congenial associates for a summer outing, but as a steady\ndiet--well, I am not at all surprised that, as men waxed more mature\nin years and in experience, these titanic members of the Olympian four\nhundred lost their power and became no greater factor in the life of\nthe large society of mankind than any other group of people, equal in\nnumber and of seeming importance, whose days and nights are given over\nsolely to pleasure and the morbid pursuit of notoriety.\n\nTHE END\n\n\nTranscriber's Note: The author refers to a type of golf club\nas a \"brassey\" and also as a \"brassie\". Both spellings have\nbeen maintained in this document.","title":"Olympian Nights","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":31545}