Doctor Jones' Picnic Part 4

"Yes," returned the Doctor, "how easily and smoothly we are going. When one looks inside, it is hard to realize that we are flying at the rate of nearly thirty miles an hour through the air, three thousand feet above the earth."

"And notice how steadily we are moving. Not a tremor nor movement of any sort appreciable. How decidedly superior to car or steamboat traveling.

Here we have no jar, noise, nor dust," continued Will.

"Nor any kind of danger of s.h.i.+pwreck or collision," added Professor Gray.

"Well, I'm sure that we are a peculiarly favored lot of travelers," said Fred, turning to the organ and playing "Away with Melancholy," with great spirit.

"How does the temperature in the globe keep up?" asked the Professor of Will.

"I am astonished, Professor," he replied, "it has scarcely varied a degree since starting, now two hours, and we are burning no fuel at all at present."

"That is truly wonderful," answered the Professor. "At this rate we are not likely to run out of fuel."

"No," said Will, "we are safe on that score."

The Doctor and Will now ascended to the observatory. Professor Gray and Denison sat beside the ladies upon the balcony. Each was studying the topography of the country with the aid of their field gla.s.ses.

"See the people everywhere and all waving their handkerchiefs at us,"

exclaimed Mattie.

"How distinctly we can see their white upturned faces, and how they do shout," remarked Mrs. Jones.

"I can see photographers catching snap shots at us," said Denison.

"I dare say that the telegraph and telephone wires are being kept busy over us," said Fred, who had just joined the group.

"Not a doubt of it," answered the Professor, "not only in America, but all over Christendom."

Dr. Jones and Will now returned from their aerie, the observatory.

"Whew!" exclaimed the Doctor; "if that isn't exercise for you!"

"What is the temperature now?" asked the Professor.

"One hundred and thirty degrees," replied Will. "It has cooled off a few degrees."

"Yes, we have descended to the twenty-five hundred foot level," remarked the Professor, after consulting the barometer.

"She will skim along many hours before we need to fire up," returned Will.

"And how is the view from the observatory?" inquired Denison of the Doctor.

"That is the sight of a lifetime," cried Dr. Jones. "Language is utterly inadequate to describe it. With the vast, un.o.bstructed view on all sides, far as the eye can reach, the great glistening rotund sides of the globe rolling away from beneath your feet, giving one a sensation as if about to slide off into the awful chasm below, I a.s.sure you that it is something fearful. But I cast my eye up the s.h.i.+ning mast and saw the stars and stripes floating there so calmly and serenely, and I remembered our glorious mission, and instantly I felt the Everlasting Arms about me. I realized as never before in my life, the utter littleness of man, and the almightiness of G.o.d. Here, floating thousands of feet above the earth, we can rest just as implicitly on His promises as we ever did in our lives."

These words were said by the Doctor with so much earnestness and solemnity that a hush fell upon the company for a few moments. Then Mrs.

Jones sat at the organ and began singing in a low, sweet voice, Kelso Carter's splendid hymn:

"Standing on the promises of Christ my King, Through eternal ages let his praises ring; Glory in the highest, I can shout and sing, Standing on the promises of G.o.d."

Every one of the seven were trained vocalists, and, very happily for the pleasure of the company, the four parts were so nicely balanced that their voices blended in sweetest harmony. The Doctor and Will and Denison sang ba.s.s; Fred and Professor Gray tenor, Mattie alto, and Mrs.

Jones soprano. Mattie possessed an exceedingly rich contralto, while Mrs. Jones' soprano was strong, sweet, and clear as a bird's. They all joined in the chorus, and when the hymn was finished, Ah Sing, who stood in the doorway with his white cap and ap.r.o.n on, encored loudly.

"Velly good. Me heap likee," was his verdict.

"It takes the 'Children of the Skies' to sing that hymn!" cried Denison.

"Hear! Hear!" said Mrs. Jones, clapping her hands. "Isn't that poetic and appropriate? The Children of the Skies! That was an inspiration on your part, Mr. Denison."

Several more pieces were sung, and the newness of their position began to wear off toward evening. After this the rooms were a.s.signed to each by the Doctor, who was by common consent, recognized as captain of the s.h.i.+p. Himself and wife occupied the largest of the sleeping apartments, a beautiful bedroom, twelve feet square. How pure, sweet, and clean they all were! The ceilings, walls, floors, and furniture, all of that marvelous metal, aluminum. Rugs laid about as required were the only covering upon the floors. At six o'clock, Sing announced dinner. As they repaired to the dining-room and sat in the dainty aluminum chairs about the aluminum table, set with a complete service of the same metal, they could not repress their expressions of delight. They sat with bowed heads while Dr. Jones invoked the Divine blessing upon the food of which they were about to partake, and asked His special protection and care during the unknown perils before them. As the meal progressed, they grew quite talkative and merry.

"This is high living in more senses than one," remarked Fred as he finished a plate of soup.

"Yes," returned Mrs. Jones, "we have picked up a jewel of a cook."

"How are you getting along, girls?" cried the genial Doctor, from the lower end of the table where he sat carving the meat.

"Just splendidly, Doctor," replied Mattie, gaily. "Your picnic is turning out to be a grander success than you ever could have dreamed of."

"I don't know," he returned as his eye swept about the room and out of the window. "I had my ideas up pretty high, but I must admit that this rather exceeds my highest flights of imagination."

"My ideal of pleasure, so far as eating goes, used to be that of sitting in a Pullman dining-car, flying at the rate of forty miles an hour or more. I have spent an hour at such a table more than once, looking out of the great windows as I ate, and thought I knew all about it. But ah!

I had never dined with the 'Children of the Skies,'" said Will.

And so they pleasantly chatted through the meal. Mrs. Jones, who sat at the other end of the table, poured the tea.

"It may be imagination, but everything seems to taste better than common aboard this s.h.i.+p," said Professor Gray. "Now, this tea is remarkably fragrant and delicious. It is a beverage that I do not as a rule care much for. What particular variety of tea is it?"

"It is the very best quality of Ceylon. I have forbidden the use of any other kind by my patients. The Ceylon tea possesses little or no tannic acid, and is not nearly so deleterious to weak stomachs as other varieties. Speaking of teas, I suppose that you have all heard of one brand of tea called 'Gunpowder.' I could tell you a very good story about Gunpowder tea if you wish to hear it."

A general desire being expressed to hear it, the Doctor began:

"My maternal grandfather left New York state and moved to the vicinity of Cleveland, Ohio, in 1830. Cleveland at that time was a small, unimportant lakeport and my grandfather was offered his choice between a tract of land upon what is now the most beautiful residence street in the world, Euclid Avenue, and a piece at what was called Brighton, several miles farther from town. It speaks but little for the old gentleman's foresight, but he chose the latter, and so remained a comparatively poor man all his life, instead of becoming a millionaire.

But, by dint of hard work, grandfather prospered as well as his neighbors, and was content. In course of time, a hired man became a necessary fixture upon the farm, and for many years Pete Wiggs, an honest, hardworking German, was grandfather's right-hand man. But Pete, jewel of a farmhand though he was, possessed one serious flaw: he _would_ have a periodical spree. But, so considerate was he, that he always chose a time for his sprees when 'Dere really vos notting else to do, Uncle Ezra,' as he a.s.sured my grandfather by way of extenuation. So it became an understood arrangement that Pete was to be allowed, and expected to have, a 'blowout' every spring and fall. One spring day, the crops being all in, Pete began making arrangements for one of his semi-annuals. 'Now, Pete,' said my grandmother, 'before you get drunk, I want you to be sure and not forget to buy me a pound of the new tea I have heard of. They call it 'Gunpowder tea.' Now attend to this for me before you get to drinking.

'All right, Aunt Lois, so I vill,' replied Pete.

Four or five days later, Pete returned as usual, semi-intoxicated, and looking very much the worse for wear.

'Give me dish, Aunt Loish, and I gif you dot Gunpowder dee. Paper proke in mine bocket.'

So out of his coat pocket he began to fish great handfuls of tea leaves, and a fine, black, granular substance. Grandmother looked at the strange mixture critically, and concluded that the reason the tea was so called was because part of it so much resembled gunpowder. So she thanked the thoughtful Dutchman most kindly, and set it away carefully. A few evenings later she invited a number of her neighbors, old cronies, to drink Gunpowder tea with her. None of them had ever seen the new variety of tea, and all were there, expecting a very great treat indeed.

It was soon poured out and upon the table. Grandmother noticed that its color was black as ink, and she felt a thrill of anxiety run down her spinal column as she poured it into the cups. Aunt Joanna, my grandmother's sister, was the oracle of the settlement on social matters, and by tacit consent, all awaited until she had first tasted the new beverage. Each felt that a great event was at hand, and the fate of Gunpowder tea was about to be settled, once and forever, in that settlement. So Aunt Joanna, fully alive to a sense of her position and responsibility, with great deliberation took a generous sip of the candidate for social favor. Her eyes filled with tears; she coughed furiously behind her handkerchief, and a spasm of disgust and nausea went to her very toes. Then she sat straight, grim, and silent as death. Each of the other old ladies went through about the same motions.

And now grandmother, who had been puttering about, waiting upon her guests, noticed that something was wrong.

'Well, Joan, how do you like Gunpowder tea?'