Miriam had already noticed signs of peculiar animation in the crutch, and she lent an interested ear to what was to follow.
“Lissen here, miss,” Jim continued, hitching his chair nearer. “Torpy, he ain’t no back-number, at dat; an’ he fixes up a play dat would beat us sure, on’y fer de Sol outfit an’ anudder t’ing or two. I’s been romancin’ roun’ dis ranch, quiet like, as me nater is, an’ I’m onter his curves. Dere’s just one trouble wid you, miss, speakin’ as frien’s, you’s too much of a good-looker, an’ you sure gits Torpy dat nutty on yer he’d bust up de hull universe sooner’n lose yer; an’ me, I ain’t sayin’ yer ain’t wort’ it!”
“Jim, your compliments are wonderful,” said Miriam; “but please—”
“In course, miss. It’s like dis—Torpy’s figgerin’ to slip de hawser o’ dis here dinky lil moon o’ his, an’ go cavortin’ roun’ de solar system, unhitchin’ all de odder eart’s as he sails by, an’ fetchin’ up at de sun. He changes cars dere—de sun ’d be some too hot fer my tastes, but likely he takes a cooler along—an heads de process’un fer O’Brien’s belt an’ de milky way! A sort o’ Cook’s tour, puss-nel conducted, see? An’ you along, eatin’ ice cream an’ chattin’ sociable like: ‘Gimme a new batch o’ stars ter-morrer, Torpy,’ you says; ‘dis lot is some tarnished, an’ outer fashion, anyway,’ you tells him. ‘Right-o!’ he comes back. Down goes de clutch, an’ ho, fer de boun’-less main! Dat’s Torpy!”
Miriam shook her head and smiled sadly. “I’ve seen something of what magic and do, Jim,” she said; “but I think you have been deceived. After all, there is such a thing as reality!”
“Magic, nuttin’!” retorted Jim; “dis here game is sci’ntific! Torpy’s been coachin’ up on de gravitation stunt; he’s had his sci’nce sharps workin’ overtime dese five years on de job to fix up a counter to it; an’ dey gets de hull t’ing ready ter touch off at sunup ter-morrer! Ain’t I been t’rough de lab’ratories an’ seen ’em at it!”
“If such a thing were possible,” began Miriam. But she reflected that the discussion was unprofitable, whether or not the possibility existed. “What we must think of,” she said, “is whether anything can be done to escape. I have a plan of my own, but only for the last resort.” She hesitated, but resolved to trust the gnome with her secret. “In that room,” she went on, “is an instrument for atomic disintegration, which I have adjusted so that by merely reversing the magnetic field, Tor would be exploded into dust. I tell you this, Jim, because should there be no other hope, and I be unable to reach the machine myself, I should ask you to act in my place!”
Jim eyed her admiringly. “Say, miss, speakin’ o’ game sports, you’s a top-liner! Le’s take a slant at de outfit.” She led the way to the laboratory, and found no difficulty in explaining the mechanism of the machine, Jim, as has been noted, having a natural aptitude for all mechanical contrivances. He handled the magnet with a touch suggestive of the innate longing of the unregenerate small boy to unleash the elements of destruction. But he virtuously mastered the inclination. “She’s a sure-enough peach, miss,” he said, stepping back with a sigh; “but we’s ain’t needin’ her. An’ anudder t’ing, Torpy’s a slob, all right; but he’s up ag’in a stiff game, an’ you’s de stakes he’s playin’ fer; an’ I puts it to you straight, kin yer blame him? Ef he’d got de strangle clutch on yer, it ’ud be all right to pull de gun on him, ’cause we’s bound ter win, anyway; but we’s got him beat, dough he don’t know it yit; an’ what I says is, when he does know it, dat’s punishment enough fer him, an’ we kin let it go at dat! Let him keep his ol’ moon, an’ spen’ his declinin’ years sorrerin’ over de error uv his ways an’ de loss uv all he helt mos’ dear! Say, a’ter I’s had me chin wid him, yer ’ll see him takin’ water like an ol’ boozer de mornin’ a’ter a wet night—d’ yer git me! I’s goin’ ter han’ him some home trut’s—dat’s me! An’ when you an’ me starts our slide fer home-base, yer’ll see Torpy a gazin’ at us in a wild su’mize, like dat dago gink in Cent’al America musin’ on de ruins o’ Cart’age!”
In spite of the radiant self-confidence thus poetically expressed, Miriam could not help feeling a little uneasy. She had no desire to annihilate Torpeon if she might escape on any terms less tragic; but was Jim as well equipped as he imagined for the undertaking? What could he or she know of Torpeon’s resources?
“You spoke of seeing his laboratories,” she said. “What if the work they are doing should be accomplished before we can act? And what prevented Jack, or some of the Saturnians, from coming here with you?”