Doctor Trigg looked at his friend. “Poor old Sims,” he said; then as an afterthought, “Poor old me!”
By the following morning the Moonbeam had made more than her usual mileage. She seemed destined to escape the stormy, unsettled winds that had kept the Graf Zeppelin dodging while on the same lap of the journey. Far ahead, ominous masses of black clouds would pile up, only to melt away as they approached. On either side they watched sudden storms rise, struggle and disappear. It was as though they were moving in a charmed area, where there were no adverse currents and the steady tail-wind persisted. The hours passed uneventfully enough to please even as exacting a pilot as David.
Radiograms flew back and forth from Friedrichshafen, Tokio, Los Angeles, San Francisco and New York, while from numbers of American cities came messages asking the Moonbeam to divert her course sufficiently to pay them an aerial call.
Mr. Hammond found it hard to refuse these requests. He was so proud of the Moonbeam that he wanted the whole country to see their American dirigible. He kept a list of the radiograms, and determined to make a later trip which would embrace all the larger cities of the United States. He was bombarded with requests by radio from eager, highly efficient publicity men, taking time by the forelock, and offering every known inducement for a word of commendation from him for products ranging from cigarettes to breakfast bacon. Far away as they still were, they commenced to feel the stir and restlessness that is America.
High spirits prevailed, and an ever-increasing sense of friendliness. A pool was made on the day’s mileage, and wagers as to the exact hour and minute of sighting land. Late in the afternoon the youngest reporter exclaimed, “Say, d’you know that it’s tomorrow that we gain a day? We go to bed Monday night and wake up Monday morning. Gee, isn’t that funny?”
“Har, no!” said Doctor Sims. “What’s a day lost or gained in the immensity of time?”
“Time has no immensity, except in perspective,” said Doctor Trigg. “An extra day may be of paramount importance to our young friend.”
“He himself is merely an infinitesimal atom,” said Doctor Sims, regarding the youngest reporter critically. “So are you; so am I.”
“Undoubtedly. But as an atom, I confess that I regard the gaining of a day with a certain thrill. One day, Nicholas! A day which may change the course of empire, breed great men, give some needed discovery to the world, write a deathless song, or see a noble deed done.”
“Or some great wrong,” added Doctor Sims.