Space will not permit to give you many details of our trip, which caused two weeks to pass so quickly. Mishaps we had, repairs to make, but the same machine was bringing us nearer home each minute. Two o'clock now; by six we are due in New York.
A Chicago chap—we met him—seemed rather smart and all that, had a contrivance for working an air-ship by trolley-wire. His scheme was to sail along near enough the ground to drop a trailer on the street wire, and so obtain a current to run his aerial machine.
"My son," said I, "how do you expect to make a complete circuit with but one wire?"
"That is part of my invention," said he.
Whether he made a success of it or not I have no means of knowing, but I liked the idea.
We crossed the Pavonia bridge from Jersey City to New York on time, had just reached the terminus when the Express Air-ship Maxim rose from the depot at Union Square and headed for Albany, looking very much like an immense shooting-star.
The railroads have had a severe setback since Maxim has perfected his aerial engines and light machinery. Freight they still carry, but railway passenger traffic has fallen off to a marked extent, even with trains running at one hundred miles per hour.
Who would care nowadays to spend an hour and a half in the cars between New York and Albany when the Maxim will do it in forty-five minutes!
Strange creatures, to me, these women. I have never married. Joe's mother wept when we left, and I am blamed if she is not crying this minute. "What!"
"You too, Joe? I—"