FullReads

“What, Sandy, a nobleman from Hoboken? How is that?”

“Easy enough. Duffer kept a sausage-shop and never saved a cent in his life because he used to give all his spare meat to the poor, in a quiet way. Not tramps,–no, the other sort–the sort that will starve before they will beg–honest square people out of work. Dick used to watch hungry-looking men and women and children, and track them home, and find out all about them from the neighbors, and then feed them and find them work. As nobody ever saw him give anything to anybody, he had the reputation of being mean; he died with it, too, and everybody said it was a good riddance; but the minute he landed here, they made him a baronet, and the very first words Dick the sausage-maker of Hoboken heard when he stepped upon the heavenly shore were, ‘Welcome, Sir Richard Duffer!’ It surprised him some, because he thought he had reasons to believe he was pointed for a warmer climate than this one.”

All of a sudden the whole region fairly rocked under the crash of eleven hundred and one thunder blasts, all let off at once, and Sandy says,–

“There, that’s for the barkeep.”

I jumped up and says,–

“Then let’s be moving along, Sandy; we don’t want to miss any of this thing, you know.”

“Keep your seat,” he says; “he is only just telegraphed, that is all.”

“How?”

“That blast only means that he has been sighted from the signal- station. He is off Sandy Hook. The committees will go down to meet him, now, and escort him in. There will be ceremonies and delays; they won’t he coming up the Bay for a considerable time, yet. It is several billion miles away, anyway.”

“I could have been a barkeeper and a hard lot just as well as not,” says I, remembering the lonesome way I arrived, and how there wasn’t any committee nor anything.

“I notice some regret in your voice,” says Sandy, “and it is natural enough; but let bygones be bygones; you went according to your lights, and it is too late now to mend the thing.”

“No, let it slide, Sandy, I don’t mind. But you’ve got a Sandy Hook HERE, too, have you?”

“We’ve got everything here, just as it is below. All the States and Territories of the Union, and all the kingdoms of the earth and the islands of the sea are laid out here just as they are on the globe–all the same shape they are down there, and all graded to the relative size, only each State and realm and island is a good many billion times bigger here than it is below. There goes another blast.”

“What is that one for?”

“That is only another fort answering the first one. They each fire eleven hundred and one thunder blasts at a single dash–it is the usual salute for an eleventh-hour guest; a hundred for each hour and an extra one for the guest’s sex; if it was a woman we would know it by their leaving off the extra gun.”

“How do we know there’s eleven hundred and one, Sandy, when they all go off at once?–and yet we certainly do know.”

“Our intellects are a good deal sharpened up, here, in some ways, and that is one of them. Numbers and sizes and distances are so great, here, that we have to be made so we can FEEL them–our old ways of counting and measuring and ciphering wouldn’t ever give us an idea of them, but would only confuse us and oppress us and make our heads ache.”

After some more talk about this, I says: “Sandy, I notice that I hardly ever see a white angel; where I run across one white angel, I strike as many as a hundred million copper-colored ones–people that can’t speak English. How is that?”