by Anthology
The excitement of their past adventures, the unreal wonder of their present situation, the bewildering possibilities and impossibilities of their future plans--all these conspired to banish sleep until long past midnight. It was not until, speeding due north with the unswerving obedience of a magnet, their vessel was sailing far above the waters of the upper Saguenay, that they at length sank to rest.
They were awakened next morning by a knocking upon Rebecca's door.
"It's pretty nigh eight-thirty," Droop cried. "I've got the kettle on the range, but I don't know what to do nex'."
"What! Why! Who! Where! Sakes! what's this?"
Rebecca sat up in bed, unable to place herself.
"It's pretty nigh half-past eight," Copernicus repeated. "Long after breakfast-time. I'm hungry!"
By this time Phoebe was wide awake.
"All right!" she cried. "We'll come in a minute."
Then Rebecca knew where she was--or rather realized that she did not know. But fortunately a duty was awaiting her in the kitchen and this steadied a mind which seemed to her to need some support in the midst of these unwonted happenings.
Phoebe was the first to leave her bedroom. She had dressed with frantic speed. In her haste to get to the windows and see the world from the sky, she had secured her hair very imperfectly, and Droop was favored with a charming display of bright locks, picturesquely disarranged.
"Good-mornin', Cousin Phoebe," he said, with his suavest manner.
"Good-morning, Mr. Droop," Phoebe replied. "Where are we? Is everything all right?"
She made straight for one of the windows the iron shutters of which were now open.
"I wish't you'd call me Cousin Copernicus," Droop remarked.
"Oh--oh! What a beautiful world!"
Phoebe leaned her face close to the glass and gazed spell-bound at the wonderful landscape spread before her.
The whole atmosphere seemed filled with a clear, cold sunlight whose brilliance irradiated the giant sphere of earth so far away.
Directly below and to the right of their course, as far as she could see, there was one vast expanse of dark blue sea, gilded dazzlingly over one portion where the sun's beams were reflected. Far ahead to the north and as far behind them the sea was bordered with the fantastic curves of a faint blue coast dotted and lined with the shadows of many a hill and mountain. It was a map on which she was gazing. Nature's own map--the only perfect chart in the world.
So new--so intensely, almost painfully, beautiful was this scene that Phoebe stood transfixed--fascinated. She did not even think of speaking.
The scene was not so new to Droop--and besides he was a prey to an insistent appetite. His mental energies, therefore, sought expression in speech.
Approaching Phoebe's side, he said:
"Mighty pretty, ain't it?"
She did not reply, so he continued:
"That water right under us is Hudson Strait. The ocean to the right is the Atlantic. Ye can see Hudson's Bay off to the left out o' one o' them windows. I've ben lookin' it up on the map."
He strolled toward the table, as if inviting Phoebe to see his chart which lay there unrolled. She did not follow him.
"Yes," he continued, "that's Hudson Strait, and we're four miles high, an' that's all I'll tell ye till I have my breakfast."
He gazed wistfully at Phoebe, who did not move or speak, but let her eyes wander in awed delight over the wonders thus brought before them.
Just then Rebecca emerged from her room.
"Good-mornin'," she said. "I guess I'm late."
"Good-mornin', Cousin Rebecca; I guess ye are a mite late. Cousin Phoebe won't move--so I'm sayin' we're four miles high an' right over Hudson Strait, an' that's all I'll tell ye till I get my breakfast."
"Goodness me!" exclaimed Rebecca. "Ain't that mos' too high, Mr. Droop?" She hurried to the window and looked out.
"Sakes alive!" she gasped.
She was silent for a moment, awed in her turn by the immensity of the prospect.
"Why--but--it's all water underneath!" she exclaimed at last. "Ef we was to fall now, we'd be drowned!"
"Now don't you be a mite skeert," said Droop, with reassuring politeness. "We've ben scootin' along like this all night an'--an' the fact is, I've got the kettle on--p'raps it's b'iled over."
Rebecca turned from the window at once and made for the kitchen.
"Phoebe," she said, briskly, "you set the table now an' I'll hev breakfast ready in a twinklin'."
Reluctantly Phoebe left the window and Droop soon had the satisfaction of sauntering back and forth between kitchen and dining-table in pleased supervision of the progress of both.
In due time a simple but substantial breakfast was in readiness, and the three travellers were seated around the table partaking of the meal each in his own way.
Droop was business-like, almost enthusiastic, in his voracious hunger. Rebecca ate moderately and without haste, precisely as though seated in the little Peltonville cottage. Phoebe ate but little. She was overcome by the wonders she had seen, realizing for the first time the marvellous situation in which she found herself.
It was not until the table was cleared and the two women were busy with the dishes that conversation was resumed. Droop sat with his chair tilted backward against the kitchen wall enjoying a quiet satisfaction with his lot and a kindly mental attitude toward all men.
He glanced through the kitchen door at the barometer on the wall in the outer room.
"We've climbed near a mile since before breakfast," he remarked.
Rebecca paused before hanging up the soap-shaker.
"Look here, Mr. Droop," she said, anxiously, "we are mos' too high a'ready, I think. S'posin' we was to fall down. Where do you s'pose we'd be?"
"Why, Rebecca," said Phoebe, laughing, "do you suppose five miles is any worse than four? I guess we'd be killed by falling one mile jest as quick as five."
"Quicker!" Droop exclaimed. "Considerable quicker, Cousin Rebecca, fer it would take us a good deal longer to fall five miles than it would one."
"But what ever's the use o' keepin' on a-climbin'?"
"Why, that's the nature of this machine," he replied. "Ye see, it runs on the rocket principle by spurtin' out gases. Ef we want to go up off the ground we squirt out under the machine an' that gives us a h'ist. Then, when we get 'way up high, we spread out a pair o' big wings like and start the propeller at the stern end o' the thing. Now them wings on'y holds us up by bein' inclined a mite in front, and consequence is we're mighty apt to climb a little right 'long."
"Well, but won't we get too high?" suggested Phoebe. "Ain't the air too thin up very high?"
"Of course, we mustn't go too high," Droop conceded, "an' I was just a-thinkin' it wouldn't go amiss to let down a spell."
He rose and started for the engine-room.
"How do you let down?" Phoebe asked, pausing in her work.
"Why, I jest turn the wings horizontal, ye know, an' then we sink very slow till I incline 'em up again."
He disappeared. Phoebe gave the last of the dishes a brief touch of the dish-towel and then ran into the main room to watch the barometer.
She was much interested to observe a gradual but continual decrease in their altitude. She walked to the window but could see no apparent change, save that they had now passed the sea and only the blue land with silver streaks of river and indigo hill shadows was beneath them.
"How fast do you s'pose we're flyin', Mr. Droop?" she asked.
"There's the speed indicator," he said, pointing to one of the dials on the wall. "Ye see it says we're a-hummin' along at about one hundred an' thirty miles an hour."
"My gracious!" cried Phoebe. "What if we was to hit something!"
"Nothin' to hit," said Droop, with a smile. "Ye see, the's no sort o' use goin' any slower, an' besides, this quick travellin' keeps us warm."
"Why, how's that?"
"The sides o' the machine rubbin' on the air," said Droop.
"That's so,"
Phoebe replied. "That's what heats up meteors so awful hot, ain't it?"
Rebecca came out of the kitchen at this moment.
"I must say ye wasn't particler about gettin' all the pans to rights 'fore ye left the kitchen, Phoebe. Ben makin' the beds?"
"Land, no, Rebecca!" said Phoebe, blushing guiltily.
"Well, there!"
Rebecca said no more, but her set lips and puckered forehead spoke much of displeasure as she stalked across to the state-rooms.
"Well, I declare to goodness!" she cried, as she opened her door. "Ye hevn't even opened the window to air the rooms!"
Phoebe looked quite miserable at thought of her remissness, but Copernicus came bravely to the rescue.
"The windows can't be opened, Cousin Rebecca," he said. "Ef ye was to open one, 'twould blow yer head's bald as an egg in a minute."
"What!"
"Yes," said Phoebe, briskly, "I couldn't air the beds an' make 'em because we're going one hundred and thirty odd miles an hour, Rebecca."
"D'you mean to tell me, Copernicus Droop," cried the outraged spinster, "that I've got to go 'thout airin' my bed?"
"No, no," Copernicus said, soothingly. "The's special arrangements to keep ventilation goin'. Jest leave the bed open half the day an' it'll be all aired."
Rebecca looked far from pleased at this.
"I declare, ef I'd known of all these doin's," she muttered.
Unable to remain idle, she set to work "putting things to rights," as she called it, while Phoebe took her book to the west window and was soon lost in certain modern theories concerning the Baconian authorship of Shakespeare's works.
"Is these duds yourn, Mr. Droop?" asked Rebecca, sharply, pointing to a motley collection of goods piled in one corner of the main room.
"Yes," Droop replied, coming quickly to her side. "Them's some of the inventions I'm carryin' along."
He stooped and gathered up a number of boxes and bundles in his arms. Then he stood up and looked about him as though seeking a safe place for their deposit.
"That's all right," said Rebecca. "Ye can put 'em right back, Mr. Droop. I jest wanted to see whether the' was much dust back in there."
Droop replaced his goods with a sigh of relief. One box he retained, however, and, placing it upon the table, proceeded to unpack it.
Rebecca now turned her attention to her own belongings. Lifting one of her precious flower-pots carefully, she looked all about for a more suitable location for her plants.
"Phoebe," she exclaimed at length, "where ever can I set my slips? They ought to be in the sun there by the east window, but it'll dirt up the coverin' of the settle."
Phoebe looked up from her book.
"Why don't ye spread out that newspaper you brought with you?" she said.
Rebecca shook her head.
"No," she replied, "I couldn't do thet. The's a lot o' fine recipes in there--I never could make my sweet pickle as good as thet recipe in the New York paper thet Molly sent me."
Phoebe laid down her book and walked over to her sister's side.
"Oh, the' must be some part of it you can use, Rebecca," she said. "Land sakes!" she continued, laughing. "Why, it's the whole of the New York World for a Sunday--pictures an' all! Here--take this advertisin' piece an' spread it out--so."
She tore off a portion of the voluminous paper and carefully spread it out on one of the eastern settles.
"Whatever did you bring those slips with you for?" she asked.
Rebecca deposited the flower-pots carefully in the sun and slapped her hands across each other to remove the dust on them.
"One o' them is off my best honeysuckle thet come from a slip thet Sam Mellick brought from Japan in 1894. This geranium come off a plant thet was given me by Arabella Slade, 'fore she died in 1896, an' she cut it off'n a geranium thet come from a lot thet Joe Chandler's father raised from slips cut off of some plants down to Boston in the ground that used to belong to our great-grandfather Wilkins 'fore the Revolution."
This train of reasoning seemed satisfactory, and Phoebe turned to resume her book.
Copernicus intercepted her as she passed the table.
"What d'ye think o' this little phonograph, Cousin Phoebe?" he said.
One of Droop's boxes stood open and beside it Phoebe saw a phonograph with the usual spring motor and brass megaphone.
"I paid twenty-five fer that, secon' hand, down to Keene," said the proud owner.
"There!" exclaimed Phoebe. "I've always wanted to know how those things worked. I've heard 'em, you know, but I've never worked one."
"It's real easy," said Droop, quite delighted to find Phoebe so interested. "Ye see, when it's wound up, all ye hev to do is to slip one o' these wax cylinders on here--so."
He adjusted the cylinder, dropped the stylus and pushed the starting lever.
Instantly the stentorian announcement rang out from the megaphone.
"The Last Rose of Summer--Sola--Sung by Signora Casta Diva--Edison Record!"
"Goodness gracious sakes alive!" cried Rebecca, turning in affright. "Who's that?"
Her two companions raised their right hands in a simultaneous appeal for silence. Then the song began.
With open eyes and mouth, the amazed Rebecca drew slowly nearer, and finally took her stand directly in front of the megaphone.
The song ended and Copernicus stopped the motor.
"Oh, ain't it lovely!" Phoebe cried.
"Well--I'll--be--switched!" Rebecca exclaimed, with slow emphasis. "Can it sing anythin' else?"
"Didn't you never hear one afore, Cousin Rebecca?" Droop asked.
"I never did," she replied. "What on the face of the green airth does it?"
"Have ye any funny ones?" Phoebe asked, quickly, fearful of receiving a long scientific lecture.
"Yes," said Droop. "Here's a nigger minstrels. The's some jokes in it."
The loud preliminary announcement made Rebecca jump again, but while the music and the songs and jokes were delivered, she stood earnestly attentive throughout, while her companions grinned and giggled alternately.
"Is thet all?" she asked at the conclusion.
"Thet's all," said Droop, as he removed the cylinder.
"Well, I don't see nothin' funny 'bout it," she said, plaintively.
Droop's pride was touched.
"Ah, but that ain't all it can do!" he cried. "Here's a blank cylinder. You jest talk at the machine while it's runnin', an' it'll talk back all you say."
This was too much for Rebecca's credulity, and Droop could not induce her to talk into the trumpet.
"You can't make a fool o' me, Copernicus Droop," she exclaimed.
"You try, Cousin Phoebe," he said at last.
Phoebe looked dubiously at her sister as though half of opinion that her shrewd example should be followed.
"You sure it'll do it?" she asked.
"Certain!" cried Copernicus, nodding his head with violence.
She stood a moment leaning over with her pretty lips close to the trumpet.
Then she straightened up with a face of comical despair.
"I don't know what to say," she exclaimed.
Droop stopped the motor and looked about the room. Suddenly his eyes brightened.
"There," he cried, pointing to the book Phoebe had been reading, "read suthin' out o' that into it."
Phoebe opened the book at random, and as Droop started the motor again she read the following lines slowly and distinctly into the trumpet:
"It is thus made clear from the indubitable evidence of the plays themselves that Francis Bacon wrote the immortal works falsely ascribed to William Shakespeare, and that the gigantic genius of this man was the result of the possession of royal blood. In this unacknowledged son of Elizabeth Tudor, Queen of England, was made manifest to all countries and for all centuries the glorious powers inherent in the regal blood of England."
"That'll do," said Droop. "Now jest hear it talk back."
He substituted the repeating
stylus for the recording point and set the motor in motion once more. To the complete stupefaction of Rebecca, the repetition of Phoebe's words was perfect.
"Why! It's Phoebe's voice," she began, but Phoebe broke in upon her suddenly.
"Why, see the hills on each side of us, Mr. Droop," she cried.
Droop glanced out and leaped a foot from the ground.
"Goramighty!" he screamed, "she'll strike!" He dashed to the engine-room and threw up the forward edges of the aeroplanes. Instantly the vessel swooped upward and the hills Phoebe had seen appeared to drop into some great abyss.
The two women ran to a window and saw that they were over a bleak and rocky island covered with ice and snow.
Droop came to their side, quite pale with fright.
"Great Moses!" he exclaimed. "I warn't more'n jest in time, I tell ye! We was a-settlin' fast. A little more'n we'd ha' struck--" He snapped the fingers of both hands and made a gesture expressive of the complete destruction which would have resulted.
"I tell you what, Mr. Droop," said Rebecca, sternly, but with a little shake in her voice, "you've got to jest tend to business and navigate this thing we're a-ridin' on. You can't work and play too. Don't you say anythin' more to Phoebe or me till we get to the pole. What time'll that be?"
"About six or half-past, I expect," said Droop, humbly. "But I don't see how I can be workin' all the time. The machine don't need it, an', besides, I've got to eat, haven't I?"
"When it comes time fer your victuals, Phoebe'll watch the windows an' the little clocks on the wall while I feed ye. But don't open yer head agin now, only fer necessary talkin' an' eatin', till we get there. I don't want any smash-ups 'round here."
Copernicus found it expedient to obey these instructions, and under Rebecca's watchful generalship he was obliged to pace back and forth from engine-room to window while Phoebe read and her sister knitted. So passed the remainder of the day, save when at dinner-time the famished man was relieved by his young lieutenant.
Immediately after supper, however, they all three posted themselves at the windows, on the lookout for the North Pole. Droop slowed down the propeller, and the aeroplanes being thus rendered less effective they slowly descended.
They were passing over an endless plain of rough and ragged ice. In every direction all the way to the horizon nothing could be seen but the glare of white.