Before we could look our fill upon this lovely promise of the future the thick vapors descended, veiling all.
In our eagerness we went off our feed, consequently gained mightily in speed. Soon we cleared the polar mists, the evenings grew deeper, darker, the stars shone brilliantly, startlingly near and large. Then one night, toward the death hour of twelve, far in the east a strange opaline light slowly glided into view. A pear-shaped disc, lusterless like a monster pearl, of a pale pink, mystic color. High in the heavens it sailed—Saunders had at last discovered his star.
He pointed to it, pale, trembling, vainly striving to control his emotion.
“It is at the full,” he murmured. “Pinkish-hued, egg-shaped, as I insisted, contrary to all scientific statements. Gentlemen, behold the planet Virgillius!”
We gave three cheers for the planet Virgillius. (Saunders and myself both gloried in the name of Virgillius.)
We knew the old boy was happy and congratulated him, then viewed the mystery through the telescope. It rose higher, glimmering in pale splendor, weird, unnatural, as it flared in uncanny, pinkish light, without sparkle or brilliancy. Through the telescope the belated star was a disappointment. Partially obscured in spiral nebula, it appeared to be in the liquid state, yet at intervals flared clear, revealing vertical bars of piercing, phosphorous light.
Saunders launched into a learned, very scientific explanation, which the discussive Sheldon prolonged far into the night.
The planet Virgillius was a “stellar apparition,” a “solar phenomenon,” and the farther south we advanced the more vivid would the rose light glow. Nine moons circled this singular planet, which revolved through space in the same sphere directly opposite our “solar globe.”
Saunders lectured volubly, but the learned atmosphere evaporated the instant he and Sheldon attempted an estimate of the distance between the planet Virgillius and Earth. Saxe. joined in the argument, shouting: “Unfathomable!” When the noise quieted I mildly suggested the dull-hued star might possibly be a moon. This startling announcement, after Saunders’s deep explanations, actually deprived my friends of speech, and I hurriedly explained my reasons for condemning the great planet Virgillius to the zodiacal insignificance of a moon, and a mighty little moon at that. I blundered along, as people will who grapple with a subject too heavy for them, but Saunders seemed overwhelmed at my brilliancy. Saxe. scowled frightfully, and Sheldon played peekaboo. I grew choleric; though my knowledge of astronomy was certainly limited, my theory concerning the pink, flickering star, was as rational as theirs, and so I frankly told them. They laughingly agreed, and Saxe. called the argument off by yawningly reminding us it was long past midnight, and suggested we turn in and rest the few remaining hours of darkness.