“You see? The radium in 20,000 lightning bugs would run a racing-mobile forever. There’s no waste, no diminution of it.” Then he remarked in a quite casual way, “We use nothing but radium at home.”
I was astonished. And interested, too, for I have friends there, and relatives. I had always believed--in accordance with my early teachings--that the fuel was soft coal and brimstone. He noticed the thought, and answered it.
“Soft coal and brimstone is the tradition, yes, but it is an error. We could use it; at least we could make out with it after a fashion, but it has several defects: it is not cleanly, it ordinarily makes but a temperate fire, and it would be exceedingly difficult, if even possible, to heat it up to standard, Sundays; and as for the supply, all the worlds and systems could not furnish enough to keep us going halfway through eternity. Without radium there could be no hell; certainly not a satisfactory one.”
“Why?”
“Because if we hadn’t radium we should have to dress the souls in some other material; then, of course, they would burn up and get out of trouble. They would not last an hour. You know that?”
“Why--yes, now that you mention it. But I supposed they were dressed in their natural flesh; they look so in the pictures--in the Sistine Chapel and in the illustrated books, you know.”
“Yes, our damned look as they looked in the world, but it isn’t flesh; flesh could not survive any longer than that copying press survived--it would explode and turn to a fog of sparks, and the result desired in sending it there would be defeated. Believe me, radium is the only wear.”
“I see it now,” I said, with prophetic discomfort, “I know that you are right, Majesty.”
“I am. I speak from experience. You shall see, when you get there.”
He said this as if he thought I was eaten up with curiosity, but it was because he did not know me. He sat reflecting a minute, then he said: