“Why he is not named yet,” said Desmond. “I had forgotten all about that.”
“Well, we have no parson here,” said Alan. “Now our world has gone, can we call ourselves Christians? How do we rank with the Almighty? Have we become atoms tossed about on an endless sea, or Christians to whom eventual release will come?”
“We are still in God’s Hands,” said Sir John reverently. “In the absence of an ordained priest, a layman may administer the Sacrament of Baptism. I am getting very old. I have one foot very near the grave. Shall I do it?”
“Please,” said Desmond.
And whirling through the Solar system, belonging neither to earth nor heaven, was performed surely the strangest rite ever known from time immemorial. And it was in this strange place, in this strange manner that Desmond and Mavis’ son—John Alan—was named.
CHAPTER II
ADRIFT IN THE SOLAR REGIONS
Life in the Argenta became very monotonous. After the first throes of despair, the glimpse of the glorious expanse of the Heavens served to cheer the prisoners within the ship. They had no clocks that were going. During the terror of the first few days time had mattered so little to them that they had let them run down. They now arranged to set all the clocks, and judge the time accordingly, and plan out their days. Rise at eight; lunch at one; tea at four; and dinner at seven and then to bed. The “night” would pass and they would begin another “day.”
They reckoned they had sufficient food to last the twelve earth months, and they could exist in comfort for three hundred and sixty-five days. And with the minutest care, perhaps even longer. “We can’t live in space for more than twelve months, surely,” said Mavis, but Sir John did not answer her. They had consumed perhaps an eighth of their water supply, and had the supply of concentrated water essence untouched. Still, they were afraid to waste any for washing purposes, and considered it a treat to be allowed to dip their fingers in any fluid that was left over from cooking; even a drop of cold tea proved a boon to them, and they gratefully damped cloths in it and wiped their hot and dry faces.
Alan fixed a piece of paper on the wall of the front cabin, and every night before they retired, he would tick off the number of the day from the time they had reset their clocks and begin to count again. Thirty, forty, fifty, so the “days” passed, and little John Alan grew enormously. The few garments that had been packed in their hurried flight were now too small for him, and Mavis was forced to use some of her own dresses, and cut them up for the growing child. He alone was unconscious of the danger of their peculiar position, and he crowed and gurgled and bit his toes, in complete babyish happiness and delight. If anything, Mavis had grown more beautiful after the arrival of her child. Her eyes glowed with maternal pride, and her cheeks were flushed with joy as she watched her baby, born into such a strange life, grow day by day fairer and more loving.
The library aboard, which Sir John had had the foresight to install in his giant Argenta, proved a godsend to the weary travellers. Every day they read aloud some old literary favourite, and renewed their acquaintance with Sam Weller, Pip, the Aged P, and Little Nell; laughed over the experiences of the “Innocents Abroad” enjoyed again the story of “Three Men in a Boat.” But even with these diversions, with chess, dominoes, and draughts; with singing and playing, they grew tired of their enforced inactivity, and chafed at their surroundings.