A breathless hush fell upon the thousands as the Mayor raised his hand to command silence. His voice sounded a bit squeaky through the loud speakers, not thunderous, as I had anticipated. I took notes of his speech, which follows:
"I t'ank it's about time I introduced the city's distinguished visitor from Mars." (A pause until the cheering had subsided.) "I bane t'anking as I stood here that Mr. Zzyx is probably the most unique visitor the great city of New York has ever welcomed, officially, yah?" (More applause.) "Some of you no doubt bane t'anking that he is a great fakir. My wife and me, we bane having an argument about this. My wife, she t'anks he's just a big monkey that's got loose from some zoo." (Laughter.) "When I ask our good friend, Mr. Henry Royce," (Mayor's voice lost in a tumult of cheers)—"when I ask him what he bane t'anking about Mr. Zzyx, and his coming in a rocket, on a beach out on Long Island, he only shakes his head, and says he knows next to noddings; and I t'ank he's just as much fooled as the rest of us. But whether our distinguished guest comes from Mars or the moon, I bane t'anking we must hold fast to our traditions, and bestow on him the key to our great city of fifteen million people—yah? Therefore, it is with the greatest pleasure that I confer such an honor upon Mr. Zzyx, the jungle man from Mars."
So saying, the Mayor handed an important-looking scroll to Mr. Zzyx, who took it, and immediately unfolded it and began to look for pictures. Not finding any, he passed it over to Henry, at whose signal, Niki stepped forward to superintend Mr. Zzyx's introduction at the microphone.
Our Martian visitor made a better showing at the microphone than I had expected. I did not know then that for several days previous to the reception, Niki had coached him in the use of the instrument. First, he peered curiously into it, then he stuck his finger in, as though he had seen some imprisoned insect inside.
Suddenly, he began to chatter, and then, just as suddenly, he stopped. Hearing his own voice amplified through the loud speakers seemed to have startled him. After Niki had patted him reassuringly on the arm, he burst into chatter again, concluding with the only word he could pronounce—"Spaghet!" He seemed to spit the word into the microphone, which sent the crowd into convulsions of laughter and cheers.
That practically ended the official city reception. After stepping into our car, Mr. Zzyx further amused the crowd by smoking a cigarette, and tipping his hat to the ladies, another trick Niki had taught him. On the return trip to Long Island, he was greeted with even greater acclaim than had been shown him earlier in the day.
We found Pat in a state of excitement. Mrs. Cornelius Van Dyk, she said, had telephoned during our absence, to announce that she was giving a dinner for Mr. Zzyx on the following Monday. After dinner, she planned to take Mr. Zzyx to the opening performance of the winter season at the Metropolitan-Civic Opera House.
Naturally, Pat was excited about this; we all were. Mrs. Van Dyk is the last word in fashionable exclusiveness in New York society; even European royalty is more accessible.
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