Alpha paused, shrugged her shoulders, and glanced disdainfully at the closed door.
“The Prince of the Vespa Belt—ouff!” she muttered. Then she flung her arms high and whispered in adoration: “I am true, faithful; yours entirely.” Her eyes closed in passionate ecstasy, a smile of exquisite joy stole over the lovely features, as in a dream she proceeded on her way.
I watched till she passed from view. She had learned the lesson well—an apt pupil who had not been taught, who had never forgotten. Remembrance had tarnished, a slight pressure upon the fabulous spring and the sensitive wires vibrated with rejuvenated vigor. Hurray! return to your Belt, oh Vespa King—sic!
Accosting the first pedestrian I inquired the way to Professor Saxlehner. Following directions, I soon reached Saxe.’s dwelling, which was brilliantly lit from top to bottom. The house seemed all frontage, wide, flat, and very shallow. I touched a conspicuous knob, the door startled me, as, clanging violently, it slid up. There stood Saxe. at the far end of the hall waiting for the intruder, but seeing me he shouted welcome.
“Thought you intended to stay for good with Saunders,” he told me after the greeting. “What consumed the time? Surely not Saunders! Never mind, tell it to me later. The Centaurians do things in style; my workshop is a great improvement upon the old one, but, confidentially, Virgillius, give me the attic every time; there the ideas came without wasting hours thinking them up. This luxury inspires yawns. I don’t see how these people ever made such rapid headway.”
And Saxe. was right, the place resembled a lady’s boudoir, all silken cushions, soft carpets and rainbow tints.
“But it’s pleasant to rest here when I’m tired,” he continued. “I don’t object to the frippery, it’s all in a lifetime. The rear is serious enough.”
“And breeches more comfortable, eh, Saxe.?” I nudged him.
“No comparison, my boy!” he replied. “I’m done with petticoats, a man can’t do anything in them but try to look pretty. No wonder women spend most of their lives primping, it’s the petticoats. I’ve found a tailor who knows his business. Imagine us returning to our own land rigged up in the sort of thing you’ve got on! Yes, sir! I feel like Saxlehner now. Sheldon’s done the same thing; says the climate of the Ocstas is too arctic for tights.”
I decided to don trousers again.