“O Lord! I forgot to say, ‘I christen thee Mamise.’”
“Say it now,” said Davidge.
She shouted the words down the channel opening like an abyss as the vast hulk diminished toward the river. Far below she could see the water leap back from the shock of the new-comer. Great, circling ripples retreated outward. Waves fought and threw up bouquets of spume.
The chute smoked with the heat of the ship’s passage and a white cloud of steam flew up and followed her into the river.
She was launched, beautifully, perfectly. She sailed level. She was water-borne.
People were cheering, the band was pounding all out of time, every eye following the ship, the leader forgetting to lead.
Mamise wept and Davidge’s eyes were wet. Something surged in him like the throe of the river where the ship went in. It was good to have built a good ship.
Mamise wrung his hand. She would have kissed him, but she remembered in time. The camera caught the impulse. People laughed at that in the movie theaters. People cheered in distant cities as they assisted weeks after in the début of Mamise.
The movies took the people everywhere on magic carpets. Yet there were curious people who bewailed them as inartistic!