The child grew up, and his father and he were heard of in every conceivable place on the globe. They were exploring the arctic regions; they had their fingers in some political pie in Latin America. They were skiing at Biarritz; they were shooting tigers in India, lions in Africa. They were at the Kentucky Derby; they were taking in the nightlife of New York. They were with an archaeologist on the Nile; they were studying conditions in Manchuria. They were presented at the Russian Court; they were abducted by Arabs. They had attempted to climb Mount Everest. But why should I write all this? You, too, have read these accounts and reveled in them and envied.

  You, too, can recall when the Gleasons joined the British forces to fight Germany. And you read the account of Gleason Senior’s death in the third year of the War, and of the record the son made in the Air Force. And that was the last you ever heard! The name of Gleason was forgotten with the rising of new stars of front-page brilliancy. What happened to the son after the leadership of the father was gone? Was this manuscript perhaps the answer? Had Dana Gleason, Jr., accomplished the last possible thing left for him to do?

  I turned again to the sheets of metal lying before me, but as I started to read further, suddenly the light about me began to fade, and I was in darkness! In wonder I looked about. Overhead, as through a very thick glass, I could see the stars, and close at hand I could make out the shapes of trees in the darkness. Then as I gazed in wonder, I saw that we were rising above the trees. Soon they were far below, and I could see nothing but the twinkling stars in the distance.

  There was no pulsation or vibration to suggest motors; it was only a gentle rising and a feeling of being suspended in space. Then through the darkness of the room I saw something that startled me. Two glowing orbs had appeared in the doorway. It was my host. He spoke.

  “In traveling through the atmosphere of a planet, we shut off our lights. Our light does not travel far; that is why we allowed it to shine in the clearing, but it is enough to be seen from below. I trust its absence does not inconvenience you.”

  I made some inane remark that passed. I enjoyed watching our progress. I added that I regretted I did not have the power to see in the dark as he had.

  “Dana Gleason could never become quite accustomed to the fact that we on Abrui could see in the dark as well as in daylight,” he observed, and I realized that he knew that I had found the manuscript.

  “Yes,” he continued, “we are on the way to deliver that report to Professor Rollins, who invented the first interplanetary vehicle. We are bound for Africa. Come, join us in the pilot room.”

  LOOKING OVER THE WORKS

  I followed him into the nose of the machine. Here the pilot, Tor, sat at some controls. All about us was clear glass; below we could see the woods we were leaving. A small light glowed here, a small round globe that contained a light in its center, although I could see no connecting wires fastened to it. A shade trained its light down upon a map of the two hemispheres, so that the light could be perceived nowhere else. I could see faintly two vertical rods rising from floor to ceiling, upon which were various levers and meters, and with these the young man was working.

  On the map was drawn a line from the point which he had left, down through the center of the Atlantic Ocean, along the equator to Africa. At a point approximately three hundred miles above Johannesburg and about one hundred miles in from the coastline, our destination was marked by a small cross.

  A chair was given me and I sat down where I had a good view of everything around us. Below we saw the lights of scattered communities, but these quickly dwindled to single lights of squatters and fishermen along the Jersey salt marshes. Then the dunes slid by and the rough waters of the Atlantic billowed. “How long do you judge this trip will take?” I questioned the youth at the controls. Sa Dak had left us for several minutes.

  “Not more than three ro, which equals about four and a half of your Earthly hours,” he declared.

  I was incredulous, but the estimate proved almost correct, for we were there in exactly four hours! What would Lindbergh say to that?

  Sa Dak returned from an examination of the motors. These engines were located in the far end of the ship. All I gathered from the details that he gave me was that the power of these motors was derived from that element very rare on Earth—radium.

  Fifteen minutes or so passed. We saw a ship with its lights all aglow steaming on to New York. It was a pretty sight. I wondered what its passengers would say if they could see us. My host suggested that I lie down for a while, for my shoulder was still sore and he thought it best for me to rest as much as possible. He himself led me back to my couch so that I should not stumble in the darkness. I was tired and the bone was beginning to ache from weariness. The golden servant soon appeared, with a glass of liquid that was strangely refreshing. After I had sipped it, the stranger insisted that he must dress my shoulder. He rubbed a salve in with his cool deft fingers, then with a salaam he was gone, and I fell asleep.

  Two hours later I awoke and returned to the pilot room. The two men were still at the controls. Water lay below us. We saw another ship bound, we supposed, for Cape Town. We quickly passed it by. In another half hour the servant appeared again with food, a sort of cooked fruit. I might note here that all the dishes with which we had been served, including those containing liquids, which later I have called glasses, were really of metal, like almost everything else the Abruians used.

  At last we saw the shoreline of Africa, and after skirting it for some distance we turned inland and the wide unvarying veld, with its low hills, and occasional groves of tropical trees, was below us. The moon had risen very late and now it was shedding its silvery glow upon everything. The skin of the two strange men caught its light and reflected it.

  Lights now shone out in two or three directions: here the lone camp fire of some traveler or hunter; there the house lights of an isolated farmhouse. Then we came suddenly to a halt, hung suspended for several minutes in the air, and like a rocket we shot down toward a group of three lights that were shining from a low bungalow and its accompanying outhouses.

  It was now one o’clock in the morning and the country lay still. Quietly, for all its bulk, the Yodverl made a landing, sinking down on the smooth grass several hundred yards from the darkened house. The bungalow was not completely dark, for lights shone from two of its windows. A single light burned in the Negroes’ quarters beyond.

  “We have arrived,” stated my host. “It is rather late to be calling, but I believe we will be welcome.” Then, turning to his companion, he made a remark in their own tongue and disappeared through the doorway.

  “That was some voyage,” I remarked to the youth.

  He smiled. “It was necessary for us to travel at so low a speed,” he said, quietly putting me in my place. “Out in space we travel many times faster than this.”

  I had noted from the start that this fellow spoke English with more difficulty than did Sa Dak. His was an English that had been learned book-wise and he spoke haltingly as he carefully picked each word. Sa Dak’s mastery of the language was different. With perfect ease he used our idioms and slang expressions, and never seemed at a loss for a word.

  Sa Dak reappeared shortly. He had changed his clothing and was dressed in a suit of white linen. The Earthly clothing could not hide the beauty of his superb body with its easy natural grace. Instead it made him look taller, more massive, and more outstanding.

  “The suit I took from your cabin was too small, unfortunately,” he said, “but it had to do until I reached a store where they could fit me properly. This is the only suit they had that fitted me without alteration.”

  I wondered how he had managed to walk around the streets of New York without attracting a crowd, but then New York was accustomed to all sorts of strange people on its streets.

  “Yes,” remarked the man, “I did cause a stir. Of course, I had painted my skin to a semblance of white, and in the first pawnshop I came to, I sold several jewels to obtain money with which I purchased a pair of dark glasses to hide my eyes. But my size continued to attract attention, and several people made remarks about the circus in town.” He laughed at the memory.

  I could not quite accustom myself to the fact that this man could read my thoughts. From the first I had noticed that he had been aware of what passed through my mind. It was unnecessary for me to as much as ask a question; he answered before I voiced my question. Even now he was explaining:

  “Reading another’s mind is merely a science, my good sir. Your world is coming to it. The difficulty in my world is in keeping the other fellow from reading your mind. My friend here,” and he pointed to Tor, “as well as my servant, have no trouble in reading what passes through your brain. I have had much pleasure in learning your reactions to us, but let me explain that human nature is much the same the Universe over, and any man of Abrui would react exactly as you have done under similar conditions.”

  His words made me rather uncomfortable, but the look in the smiling lavender eyes comforted me.

  THE OLD SCIENTIST

  And now, sir,” he went on, “would you care to accompany me on my little visit? I feel that I owe you some recompense for detaining you as my prisoner. Perhaps you will be interested in what is to come. The person we are visiting is Professor Ezra Rollins, a scientist that should hold the highest place amongst your great men, but he prefers to end his days in this deserted spot. Shall we go?”

  I gladly accompanied him, my broken bone now completely forgotten.

  My idea of how we had entered this craft was that we had come in through its glass walls. My kindly host now pressed a small lever that was fitted on his desktop. To my surprise a doorway opened where there had been naught visible but a blank wall. The door was simply a large square section, which slid outward and now rested on the grass outside. “There are forty layers of glass here,” explained Sa Dak. “Our glass, unlike Earthly glass, is almost unbreakable, yet I do not like to take a chance on the possibility of a crack; hence the thickness, made up of plates set in layers, one over the other to several of your feet.”

  “No wonder I could not throw a stone through it,” I laughed.

  He grinned. “You gave us quite a bit of merriment in your attempts.”

  We walked over to the compound of the bungalow. Dogs were howling from their kennels, but none came to stay our progress to the front door. A cool night breeze was stirring. Somewhere off in the distance we heard a lion roar. Sa Dak knocked on the house door.

  We heard the shuffle of feet. “What is it?” asked a querulous old voice.

  “One who comes with a message.”

  “Then kindly come in.”

  The door was opened and I followed the silver man into a cozy little room, a much-lived-in room. A lighted lamp was on the table; the Professor had been reading. He was a little old man with the high smooth forehead of the savant, but his eyes were burned-out lights.

  “It is a late hour to be calling, sir,” said Sa Dak. “We saw your light and concluded you were awake.”

  The old man shrugged his shoulders. “I cannot sleep. I can only wait.”

  “For a message?”

  The old eyes brightened, then saddened again. “A message that can never come. I was once a scientist; but I committed the crime of sending two men to their death. That deed awakes the dormant man within me, and awake now, I can never sleep again …”

  “Yet a message would change all that!”

  “No message has come.”

  “I bring such a message, Professor Ezra Rollins.”

  “You mean … why, who are you? I … I …”

  “I come from those two, sir, from Dana Gleason and Richard Dorr …”

  I have never seen a face and body change as did the wrinkled, weary face and stooping body before us. He was suddenly taller, younger. In a half a dozen steps he was across the room at a door through which we could see a flight of steps. “Elsie, Elsie,” he cried. “They are safe! D’y’understand? They landed on Mars!!”

  There was movement in the room above our heads. The Professor turned to us again. For the first time he seemed to note the strange appearance of his nocturnal guest. “Did you, too, come from Mars?” he questioned almost fearfully.

  The Abruian shook his head. “No, Professor, not from Mars, but from …”

  He didn’t finish his sentence, for the old man had fainted away before the sentence was completed.

  The big man was on his knees by the Professor’s side. He picked him up as easily as if he were a child and laid him tenderly on a divan close at hand. Then we were aware of a slender girlish form that had entered the room and rushed to the old man. “What have you done? What have you done?” she moaned. “You have killed my uncle!”

  “He has only fainted. His heart is weak, and I erred in not speaking more carefully. Water, please!”

  His calm voice reassured her and she hurried for a glass of water, but the Professor was already recovering. Tears commenced to flow down his cheeks. The other hastened to speak. “I am sorry, sir. I broached my subject poorly. Dana Gleason and Richard Dorr live, but the planet they reached was a more distant one than the planet you call Mars. They are both well and happy, and asked that I come to you with their message.”

  The tears halted. “I should have realized, naturally … you spoke of a message. I … I … cannot stand too much excitement. Ah … the message … you have it?”

  The manuscript was brought forth. Quickly Rollins was scanning the pages. “Ah, Dana’s handwriting. Thank God, they are safe!”

  He fumbled for his glasses and, putting them on his nose, began to read. The girl, with the glass of water still in her hand, stood beyond the table. She was holding her dressing gown at her throat. I saw then that she was not so young as I at first imagined. Obviously, she had already passed her twenties; the bloom of her youth was gone, given without thought of self to the service of the old scientist. She was Elsie Rollins, niece of the Professor. It is to her I owe the story of all that had gone before this date. When years had passed, she came to me in New York to help me in this work, and so together we compiled this record, giving facts and descriptions as we remembered them.

  Professor Ezra Rollins had been a world-famous figure not so many years before. When he let it be known that he was working on a vehicle that could carry a man to the moon or, better still, to our sister planet, Mars, he had been ridiculed until, in disgust, he left the college where he had held the scientific research chair, and had come to Africa to work unmolested by reporters, who had interviewed him only to laugh at him.

  With him had come his several disciples, who believed fervently in his theory. A mechanical engineer and a world-renowned astronomer had joined him in his retreat, and for almost twenty years they had worked together over the plans, until at last the gigantic rocket that they were to shoot to Mars was ready. All that was needed was the man who would undertake the journey. It required a man of great daring and courage, a man who would be willing to sacrifice everything, even his life, in the hazardous feat. It needed a young man, a man of learning, an extraordinary man.

  For two years Rollins had roamed through the cities looking for his subject, as he may be called, and at last he found him, a youth whose life’s training seemed to have fitted him for this very deed. Dana Gleason, Jr., had finished in the War with great honor, but now he was at loose ends, bereaved of his father, with no friend, and a family of which he knew no member. He had done everything that man could do on the planet Earth, and he had become undeniably bored with life thereon.

  Gleason did not jump at the chance to go to Mars. At first he thought the scientist was crazy. When he realized that he was in an extremely sane state of mind, that all plans had been developed, and that the rocket was there and ready, he agreed to consider the suggestion, and he considered it as soberly as such a proposition could be considered. He accepted the Professor’s invitation. He waited only long enough to make a will and straighten up all his Earthly affairs; thenceforth he was in Rollins’s keeping.

  GETTING READY FOR THE TRIP

  It was seven months before the rocket was to be shot into space, for then Mars would be in perfect conjunction with Earth for the experiment. In that time Rollins taught the brave youngster of twenty-six years all he would have to know on landing on the red planet. Once there, he was to set to work to build a gigantic radio, a replica of the one that was stored in the attic of the Rollins bungalow, and broadcast his find to Earth. Then if he discovered intelligent beings on the planet, which was a probability, he was, with their aid, to get himself shot back to Earth!

  Miss Rollins described Dana Gleason as being a slender young chap about five feet seven inches in height, with dark chestnut hair, brown eyes that were almost black, and a fair complexion, regular features that were almost girlish except for a masculinity developed by the full life of a globetrotter. He was a quiet person, little given to talking, with a throaty but well-trained voice. Only in anger would he become eloquent, and then his tones were rich, though not very deep. He seemed rather temperamental, given to moods that were affected by the elements—rain made him dreamy; storms excited him, bringing color to his cheeks; but the sun left him a quiet and serious person. When he spoke of his proposed journey in the rocket his eyes sparkled and glowed. On horseback he would roam for hours on the veld, and though he enjoyed the chase he seldom bagged any game. He was witty, with a somewhat satirical turn to his humor.