Olympian Nights

A Royal Outing

As may be imagined after my untoward interview with Jupiter, the state of my mind was far from easy.  It is not pleasant to realize that you have applied every known epithet of contempt to a god who has an off-hand way of disposing of his enemies by turning them into apple-trees, or dumb beasts of one kind or another, and upon retiring to my room I sat down and waited in great dread of what should happen next.  I couldn’t really believe that the Major Domo’s statement as to my having been forgiven was possible.  It predicated too great a magnanimity to be credible.

“I hope to gracious he won’t make a pine-tree of me,” I groaned, visions of a future in which woodmen armed with axes, and sawmills, played a conspicuous part, rising up before me.  “I’d hate like time to be sawed up into planks and turned into a Georgia pine floor somewhere.”

It was a painful line of thought and I strove to get away from it, but without success, although the variations were interesting when I thought of all the things I might be made into, such as kitchen tables, imitation oak bookcases, or perhaps—­horror of horrors—­a bundle of toothpicks!  I was growing frantic with fear, when on a sudden my reveries of dread were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“It has come at last!” I said, and I opened the door, nerving myself up to sustain the blow which I believed was impending.  Mercury stood without, flapping the wings that sprouted from his ankles impatiently.

“The skitomobile is ready, sir,” he said.

I gazed at him earnestly.

“The what?”

“The skitomobile, to take you to the links.  Jupiter has already gone on ahead, and he has commanded me to follow, bringing you along with me.”

“Oh—­I’m to go to the links, eh?  What’s he going to do with me when he gets me there?  Turn me into a golf-ball and drive me off into space?” I inquired.

My heart sank at the very idea, but I was immediately reassured by Mercury’s hearty laugh.

“Of course not—­why should he?  He’s going to play you an eighteen-hole match.  You’ve made a great impression on the old gentleman.”

“Thank Heaven!” I said.  “I’ll hurry along and join him before he changes his mind.”

In a brief while I was ready, and, escorted by Mercury, I was taken to the skitomobile which stood at the exit from the hall to the outer roadway nearest my room.  Seated in front of this, and acting as chauffeur, was a young man whom I recognized at once as Phaeton.  Alongside of him sat Jason, polishing up the most beautiful set of golf-clubs I ever saw.  The irons were of wrought gold, and the shafts of the most highly polished and exquisite woods.

“To the links,” said Mercury, and with a sudden chug-chug, and a jerk which nearly threw me out of the conveyance, we were off.  And what a ride it was!  At first the sensation was that of falling, and I clutched nervously at the sides of the skitomobile, but by slow degrees I got used to it, and enjoyed one of the most exhilarating hours that has ever entered into my experience.

Planet after planet was passed as we sped on and on upward, and as my delight grew I gave utterance to it.

“Jove!  But this is fine!” I said.  “I never knew anything like it, except looping the loop.”

Phaeton grinned broadly and winked at Jason.

“How would you like to loop the loop out here?” the latter asked.

“What?  In a machine like this?” I cried.

“Certainly,” said Jason.  “It’s great sport.  Give him the twist, Phaeton.”

I began to grow anxious again, for I recalled the past careless methods of Phaeton, and I had no wish to go looping the loop through the empyrean with one of his known adventurous disposition, to be hurled unceremoniously sooner or later perhaps into the sun itself.

“Perhaps we’d better leave it until some other day,” I ventured, timidly.

“No time like the present,” Jason retorted.  “Only hang on to yourself.  All ready, Phaety!”

The chauffeur grasped the lever, and, turning it swiftly to one side, there in the blue vault of heaven, a thousand miles from anywhere, that machine began executing the most remarkable flip-flaps the mind of man ever conceived.  Not once or twice, but a hundred times did we go whirling round and round through the skies, until finally I got so that I could not tell if I were right side up or upside down.  It was great sport, however, and but for the fact that on the third trial I lost my grip and would have fallen head over heels through space had not Mercury, who was flying alongside of the machine, swooped down and caught me by the leg as I fell out, I found it as exhilarating as it was novel.  I could have kept it up forever, had we not shortly hove in sight of the links, which, as I have already told you, were located on the planet Mars; and such gorgeousness as I there encountered was unparalleled on earth.  Much that we earth-folk have wondered at became clear at once.  The great canals, as we call them, for instance, turned out to be vast sand-bunkers that glistened like broad rivers of silver in the wondrous sheen of the planet, while the dark greenish spots, concerning which our astronomers have speculated so variously, were nothing more nor less than putting-greens.  It is extraordinary that until my visit to the planet as the guest of Jupiter, this perfectly simple solution of the various Martian problems was not even guessed.

As we drew up at the pretty little club-house, Jupiter emerged from the door and greeted me cordially.  My eyes fell before his smiling gaze, for I must confess I was mighty shamefaced over my experience of the morning, but his manner restored my self-possession.  It was very genial and forgiving.

“Glad to see you again,” he said.  “If you play golf as well as you do synonyms you’re a scratch man.  You didn’t foozle a syllable.”

“I should have, had I known as much as I do now,” said I.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t know,” Jupiter returned majestically, “for I can use that word stult in my business.  Now suppose we have a bit of luncheon and then start out.”

After eating sparingly we began our game.  I was provided with a caddie that looked like one of Raphael’s angels, and Jupiter himself handed me a driver from his own bag.

“You’ll have to be careful how you use it,” he said; “it has properties which may astonish you.”

I teed up my ball, swung back, and then with all the vigor at my command whacked the ball square and true.  It sprang from the tee like a bird let loose and flew beyond my vision, and while I was trying with my eye to keep up with it in its flight, I received a stinging blow on the back of my head which felled me to the ground.

“Thunderation!” I roared.  “What was that?”

Jupiter laughed.  “It was your own ball,” he said.  “You put too much muscle into that stroke, and, as a consequence, the ball flew all the way round the planet and clipped you from behind.”

“You don’t mean to say—­” I began.

“Yes, I do,” said Jupiter.  “That is a special long-distance driver made for me.  Only had it two days.  It is not easy to use, because it has such wonderful force.  Hercules drove a ball three times around the planet at one stroke with it yesterday.  To use it properly requires judgment.  Up here you have to play golf with your head, as well as with your clubs.”

“Well, I played it with mine all right,” I put in, rubbing the lump on the back of my head ruefully.  “Shall I play two?”

“Certainly,” said Jupiter.  “You’ve a good brassey lie behind the tee there.  Play gently now, for this hole isn’t more than three hundred miles long.”

My brassey stroke is one of my best, and I did myself proud.  The ball flew about one hundred and seventy-nine miles in a straight line, but landed in a sand-bunker.  Jupiter followed with a good clean drive for two hundred miles, breaking all the records previously stated to me by Adonis, whereupon we entered the skitomobile and were promptly transported to the edge of the bunker, where my ball reposed upon the glistening sand.  It took three to get out, owing to the height of the cop, which rose a trifle higher in the air than Mount Blanc, but the niblick Jason had brought along for my use, as soon as I got used to the titanic quality of the game I was playing, was finally equal to the loft.  My ball landed just short of the green, one hundred and sixteen miles away.  Jupiter foozled his approach, and we both reached the edge of the green in four.

“Bully distance for a putt,” said Jupiter, taking the line from his ball to the hole.

“About how far is it?” I asked, for I couldn’t see anything resembling a hole within a mile of me.

“Oh, five miles, I imagine,” was the answer.  “Put on these glasses and you’ll see the disk.”

My courteous host handed me a pair of spectacles which I put upon my nose, and there, seemingly two inches away, but in reality five and a quarter miles, was the hole.  The glasses were a revelation, but I had seen too much that was wonderful to express surprise.

“Dead easy,” I said, referring to the putt, now that I had the glasses on.

“Looks so,” said Jupiter, “but be careful.  You can’t hope to putt until you know your ball.”

At the moment I did not understand, but a minute after I had a shock.  Putting perfectly straight, the ball rolled easily along and then made a slight hitch backward, as if I had put a cut on it, and struck off ahead, straight as an arrow but to the left of the disk.  This it continued to do in its course, zigzagging more and more out of the straight line until it finally stopped, quite two and a half miles from the cup.

“Now watch me,” said Jupiter.  “You’ll get an idea of how the ball works.”

I obeyed, and was surprised to see him aim at a point at least a mile aside of the mark, but the results were perfect, for the gutty, acting precisely as mine did, zigzagged along until it reached the rim of the cup and then dropped gently in.

“One up,” said Jupiter, with a broad smile as he watched my ill-repressed wonderment.

As we were transported to the next tee by Phaeton and his machine, I looked at my ball, and the peculiarity of its make became clear at once.  It was called “The Vulcan,” and in action had precisely the same movement as that of a thunder-bolt—­thus: 

[Illustration]

“Great ball, eh?” said Jupiter.  “Adds a lot to the science of the game.  A straight putt is easy, but the zigzag is no child’s play.”

“I think I shall like it,” I said, “if I ever get used to it.”

The second hole reached, I was astonished to see a huge apparatus like a cannon on the tee, and in fact that is what it turned out to be.

“We call this the Cannon Hole,” said Jupiter.  “It lends variety to the game.  It’s a splendid test of your accuracy, and if you don’t make it in one you lose it.  If you will put on those glasses you will see the hole, which is in the middle of a target.  You’ve got to go through it at one stroke.”

“That isn’t golf, is it?” I asked.  “It’s marksmanship.”

“I call it so,” said Jupiter, calmly.  “And what I say goes.  Moreover, it requires much skill to offset the effect of the wind.”

“But there is none,” said I.

“There will be,” said Jupiter, putting his ball in the cannon’s breach and making ready to drive.  “You see those huge steel affairs on either side of the course, that look like the ventilators on an ocean steamer?”

“Yes,” said I, for as I looked I perceived that this part of the course was studded with them.

“Well, they supply the wind,” said Jupiter.  “I just ring a bell and Æolus sets his bellows going, and I tell you the winds you get are cyclonic, and, best of all, they blow in all directions.  From the first ventilator the wind is northeast by south; from the second it is southwest by north-northeast; from the third it is straight north, and so on.  Winds are blowing at the moment of play from all possible points of the compass.  Fore!”

A bell rang, and never in a wide experience in noises had I ever before heard such a fearful din as followed.  A hurricane sprang from one point, a gale from another, a cyclone from a third—­such an æolian purgatory was never let loose in my sight before, but Jupiter, gauging each and all, fired his ball from the cannon, and it sped on, buffeted here and there, now up, now down, like a bit of fluff in the chance zephyrs of the spring-tide, but ultimately passing through the hole in the target, and landing gently in a basket immediately behind the bull’s-eye.  The winds immediately died down, and all was quiet again.

“Perfectly great!” I said, with enthusiasm, for it did seem marvellous.  “But I don’t think I can do it.  You win, of course.”

“Not at all,” said Jupiter.  “If you hit the bull’s-eye, as I did, you win.”

“And you lose in spite of that splendid—­er—­stroke?” I asked.

“Oh no—­not at all,” said Jupiter.  “We both win.”

Again the bell rang, and the winds blew, and the cannon shot, but my ball, under the excitement of the moment of aiming, was directed not towards the bull’s-eye—­or the hole—­but at the skitomobile.  It hit it fairly and hard, and it smashed the engine by which the machine was propelled, much to the consternation of Jason and Phaeton.

“Unfortunate,” said Jupiter.  “Very.  But never mind.  We don’t have to walk home.”

“I’m awfully sorry,” said I.  “I—­er—­”

“Never mind,” said Jupiter.  “It is easily repaired, but we cannot go on with the game.  The next hole is eight thousand miles long.  Twice around the planet, and we couldn’t possibly walk it, so we’ll have to quit.  We’ve got all we can manage trudging back to the club-house.  Here, caddies, take our clubs back to the club-house, and tell ’em to have two nectar high-balls ready at six-thirty.  Phaeton, you and Jason will have to get back the best way you can.  I’ve told you a half-dozen times to bring two machines with you, but you never seem to understand.  Come along, Higgins, we’ll go back.  Shut your eyes.”

I closed my optics, as ordered, although my name is not Higgins, and I didn’t like to have even Jupiter so dub me.

“Now open them again,” was the sharp order.

I did so, and lo and behold! by some supernatural power we had been transported back to the club-house.

“I am sorry, Jupiter,” said I “to have spoiled your game,” as we sat, later, sipping that delicious concoction, the nectar high-ball, which we supplemented with a “Pegasus’s neck.”

“Nonsense,” said he, grandly.  “You haven’t spoiled my game.  You have merely, without meaning to do so, spoiled your own afternoon.  My game is all right and will remain so.  It would have been a great pleasure to me to show you the other sixteen holes, but circumstances were against us.  Take your nectar and let us trot along.  You dine with Juno and myself to-night.  Let’s see, I was two up, wasn’t I?”

“Two up, and sixteen to play.”

“Then I win,” said he.  It was an extraordinary score, but then it was an extraordinary occasion.

And we entered his chariot, and were whirled back to Olympus.  The ride home was not as exciting as the ride out, but it was interesting.  It lasted about a half of a millionth of a second, and for the first time in my life I knew how a telegram feels when it travels from New York to San Francisco, and gets there apparently three hours before it is sent by the clock.