THERE is no way in which material things can be smuggled into the sacred precincts of the planet Mars. There is no gold, silver or paper money, and nothing to buy, even if one possessed the money, for there are no material pleasures or enjoyments in this delightful spot.
Everyone is on a higher and more ennobling plane and it is only the few who still thirst after the lusts of the flesh who are rendered unhappy, but these are not quite purged of their earthly desires.
It was announced upon the ever-ready bulletin board, viz., the bright firmament of Mars, by the usual magic touch of the wireless wand, that there would be an entertainment given at the Telegraphers’ Tabernacle, the chief feature of which would be a phonographic concert, to be followed by an exhibition of perfect Morse sending. There would also be an exhibition of “ham” sending and a rendition of a scene supposed to have taken place on “Old No. 4 East” upon Mother Earth in the early ’70s.
The records were made by George W. Conkling, the past master of rapid transmission, who very recently joined the Pleiades Club, and Secretary Moxon did not inform his audience how he acquired the records, believing his duties did not extend to giving out state secrets.
Many thousands gathered around to hear the music, and it was certainly worthy to note that the clamor was for the patriotic national anthems. When the “Star-Spangled Banner” was rendered, everyone arose to his feet, many so-called foreigners also, thus showing their respect and admiration for the flag.
This preliminary was the beginning of the real event of the entertainment, and when the dots and dashes came humming over the talking machine much enthusiasm ensued.
“Puts me in mind of the time when I worked the Kansas City duplex alongside of Ed. Foote, with Paul Bossert and Jim Delong at the other end,” said James B. Coulter.
“Yes, it sounds like the way Adam Beidler used to try and paste Emil Shape, on the first Milwaukee wire,” ejaculated Harry McGill, who was an interested spectator and listener.
“I really believe that this talking machine is the same as the one we see illustrated in Telegraph and Telephone Age, and which I was going to purchase just shortly before I took my long flight,” remarked Wm. H. Magehan, of St. Louis, a late arrival.
Selections from the talking machine were again in order, and each individual stated his preference of pieces to be played, and they were courteously taken care of.