more respect for our host, he is Centauri, the Great One!"
"Fiddle! he flung bouquets at you, Saxe.!" retorted Sheldon. "He'll have the government present you with an advanced Propellier—invented centuries ago by himself—all for towing us safely across the Pole. Traveling in crystal won't be bad—I'll be in full possession of the fresh water supply, Saunders'll have his star fenced in, and Sally—well—er—Sally will have nothing to show—a dead romance—sweet remembrance—and a devout thankfulness he's well out of it."
"Say, don't worry about me," I cried; "and—drop the subject all around. The Centaurians are great people, their reception of us was superb, and criticising them not quite up to—er—par. For instance," I concluded, pointing to the clouds enveloping us, "admire the—ahem!—scenery."
"Yes, oh, yes; scenery!" mocked Sheldon:
Clouds to the left,
Clouds in front of us,
Vollied and thundered.'
Heard that years ago at a club entertainment—great thing, club entertainments—something from 'The Dandy Fifth,' recited by a badly frightened female who, at regular intervals, bawled: 'Hurry, oh, hurry!" Fine thing 'The Dandy Fifth.'"
"Now I wonder why it's necessary to travel in these clouds?" Saunders testily inquired. Sheldon