and over the meridian of that lonely waterfall,—if only we have rightly adjusted the gigantic flies,—will forever revolve, in its obedient orbit, the Brick Moon, the blessing of all seamen,—as constant in all change as its older sister has been fickle, and the second cynosure of all lovers upon the waves, and of all girls left behind them." "Amen," we cried, and then we sat in silence till the clock struck ten; then shook each other gravely by the hand, and left the hall.
Of waterfalls there were plenty that we knew.
Fly-wheels could be built of oak and pine, and hooped with iron. Fly-wheels did not discourage us.
But brick? One brick is, say, sixty-four cubic inches only. This moon,—though we made it hollow,—see,—it must take twelve million brick.
The brick alone will cost sixty thousand dollars!
II.
The brick alone would cost sixty thousand dollars. There the scheme of the Brick Moon hung, an airy vision, for seventeen years, the years that changed us from young men into men. The brick alone, sixty thousand dol- lars ! For, to boys who have still left a few of their college bills unpaid, who cannot think of buying that lovely lit- tle Elzevir which Smith has for sale at auction, of which Smith does not dream of the value, sixty thousand dollars seems as intangible as sixty million sestertia. Clarke, second, how much are sixty million sestertia stated in cow- ries ? How much in currency, gold being at 1.37^? Right; go up. Stop, I forget myself !
So, to resume, the project of the Brick Moon hung in the ideal, an airy vision, a vision as lovely and as distant as the Brick Moon itself, at this calm moment of midnight when I write, as it poises itself over the shoulder of Orion, in my southern horizon. Stop ! I anticipate. Let me keep as we say in Beadle's Dime Series to the even current of my story.
Seventeen years passed by. We were no longer boys, though we felt so. For myself, to this hour, I never enter board meeting, committee meeting, or synod, without the queer question, What would happen should any one discover that this bearded man was only a big boy disguised ? that the frock-coat and the round hat are none of mine , and that, if I should be spurned from the assem- bly as an interloper, a judicious public, learning all the facts, would give a ver- dict, " Served him right." This consid- eration helps me through many bored meetings which would be else so dismal. What did my old copy say ? ' Boards are made of wood, they are long and narrow." But we do not get on !
Seventeen years after, I say, or should have said, dear Orcutt entered my room at Naguadavick again. I had not seen him since the Commencement day when we parted at Cambridge. He looked the same, and yet not the same. His smile was the same, his voice, his ten- der look of sympathy when I spoke to him of a great sorrow, his childlike love of fun. His waistband was differ- ent, his pantaloons were different, his smooth chin was buried in a full beard, and he weighed two hundred pounds if he weighed a gramme. O, the good time we had, so like the times of old ! Those were happy days for me in Na- guadavick. At that moment my double was. at work for me at a meeting of the publishing committee of the Sandema- nian Review, so I called Orcutt up to my own snuggery, and we talked over old times ; talked till tea was ready. Polly came up through the orchard and made tea for us herself there. We talked on and on, till nine, ten at night, and then it was that dear Orcutt asked me if I remembered the Brick Moon. Remember it ? of course I did. And without leaving my chair, I opened the drawer of my writing-desk, and handed him a portfolio full of working-drawings on which I had engaged myself for my "third"[1] all that winter.
- ↑ "Every man," says Dr. Peabody, "should have, a vocation and an avocation." To which I add, "A third."
