In those hectic days at Mooni he had had as his laboratory assistant the youthful Prince Toron, then a slave to the Formians; now he had another youthful Cupian, though evidently of some strange tribe. Now, as then, all conversation had to be carried on by means of pad and stylus. But on the present occasion there were several advantages over Mooni. In the first place, his work was not interrupted by frequent exhibitings of himself to classes of students as a horrible example of what nature can do in an off moment. In the second place, he was now thoroughly familiar with Porovian tools and electrical symbology and equipment. And, in the third place, he was now merely duplicating an apparatus thoroughly tested and understood. But, offsetting these present advantages, was the fact that he was very weak and nervous as the result of his trying experiences during his long journey northward from Kuana to the Caves of Kar, where he now was.
The venerable gentleman, whose name turned out to be Glamp-glamp, hovered constantly around, administering to the bodily needs of his guest, and taking very good care not to let him work long enough at a stretch so as to overtax himself.
Finally the apparatus was fully repaired, and two more Cupians knew the jealously guarded secret of this means of communication.
Cabot’s first spoken words were: “Tell me more about my princess.”
Of course, Glamp-glamp had already given him in writing, from time to time, a general outline of the happenings at Luno Castle; but the completion of Cabot’s artificial speech organs furnished the first real opportunity for an extended story. The following are the events as narrated by the venerable old man:
“Shortly after the news of the birth of your son, the little Prince Kew, had been broadcast from the Luno wireless station, a radiogram was received announcing the assassination of your father-in-law, King Kew the Twelfth, in the Kuana stadium. Princess Lilla was, of course, prostrated by the news, and was in no condition to rise to the situation and assume charge of the affairs of the nation.
“But fortunately there was, among the attending physicians, a military man named Emsul, who, though primarily a veterinarian, was present to represent the army. You remember Emsul, don’t you?”
“Yes,” replied Cabot; “he tended my pet buntlote, Tabby, the time she died. He was just about to arrive at Lake Luno when I left for the fatal Peace Day exercises in the stadium. But go on with the story.”
“As I was saying,” continued Glamp-glamp, “Emsul, by virtue of his military title—”
“Merely a bar-pootah,” mused Myles aloud.