In other words, she was still concealing her fear of Mr. Zzyx lest something might happen to spoil McGinity's news stories, and remove him from our midst. For some weeks now, he had been assigned by his paper to "cover" Mr. Zzyx's every movement, and to report all the news developments in connection with Henry's theories about Mars. This necessitated his remaining at the castle.
The Daily Recorder, however, long since, had announced in its editorial columns that while it printed all the news concerning the recent Martian revelations, the publishers assumed no responsibility for their veracity, and their readers were left to render a verdict in accordance with the facts. This was a little raw on Henry, I thought.
Anyhow, the incident of the runabout was forgotten in the excitement of the following day, when the Swedish-born Mayor of New York, His Honor, Oscar Swenson, gave an official reception for Mr. Zzyx at the City Hall. And what happened there became local history.
There was a large crowd outside our lodge-gate as we drove off, in an open car; and all along the way, in the suburbs, and through the city, to the downtown district, police reserves had to be called out to control the vast throngs which lined our route.
It was a triumphal procession through the city. Mr. Zzyx waved to the people in response to their loud huzzas. From the clouds of ticker-tape and confetti that descended upon us, he collected a great quantity. He and Henry, sitting in the rear seat, were knee-deep in it by the time we reached the City Hall. On our way, while the procession was held up by cross-town traffic, I bought a raspberry lollypop from a street vendor for Mr. Zzyx. Henry frowned on this as very undignified, but Mr. Zzyx sucked it with great enjoyment. His actions reminded me of a small boy at his first circus.
The day was perfect—the air cool and crisp. We found City Hall plaza one vast sea of faces. As we passed through a barrage of cameramen, a Swedish chorus burst into song; and we had no sooner taken our places on the steps, beside the Mayor, scores of other city officials, and many notable invited guests, when several hundred Swedish gymnasts entertained us with feats of physical prowess.
I wished that Jane and Pat had come with us, but they both had elected to remain at home, and enjoy the happenings at the City Hall through the medium of the radio and television.
Mayor Swenson is a tall, gaunt, rosy-cheeked Swede, but his head only reached to the shoulders of Mr. Zzyx when they stepped in front of the microphone and television transmission instruments. Niki had accompanied us as the Martian's bodyguard, and never left his side. He carried an automatic pistol, ready for any emergency, as I learned afterwards.
It was not my first experience of an official reception at the City Hall, but many years had intervened since I attended the last one. Although I was very familiar with the great changes that had taken place, politically, in the city administration, this first close personal contact with the Mayor, the Board of Aldermen, and the various Commissioners, was in the nature of a shock. There was not one single Irishman in the Aldermanic board, nor even a Jew. The board was composed mostly of Chinese, Turks, Filipinos, and Bulgarians, and one Eskimo, who had entered politics after graduating with honors from Princeton University.
Amid this gathering of mixed nationalities, Mr. Zzyx was an outstanding figure. As time passed, he grew restless, and kept running a long, hairy finger around his immaculate collar as though it choked him. He was attired in a formal cutaway coat and striped trousers, topped with a silk hat, which he wore at an angle that gave him a rather rakish appearance. He looked to me exactly like a huge, over-stuffed piece of furniture, with the hair sticking out.