I was astonished that Henry, or Bishop Buckingham, who was a member of our party, did not rebuke him for making holes in the cloth; but both seemed preoccupied. In a state of anxiety, I glanced around at Pat, who was sitting on McGinity's left. It was not strange to find that they both were practically oblivious to their surroundings.
The speech-making was now going on, having begun shortly before coffee was served. The speakers were long-winded and tiresome. I am neither a student, nor a philosopher, but I would like some exponent of the doctrine of psychology to explain why men talk so much and at such great length at banquets. I've often wished that some bright person would organize a society for the suppression of after-dinner speakers.
For fully half an hour, now, a little, rabbit sort of man, with big ears and completely bald, and wearing tortoise-shell spectacles, had been telling of his pursuit of prey, biped and quadruped, in distant places, with minute detail of how he had killed one of every species of beast and bird and fish in the world. The guests were showing signs of impatience. Mr. Zzyx began making horrible grimaces, when Henry tapped him warningly on the arm. Then he started to amuse himself making those little bread balls. I became uneasy myself for fear he might throw one of them at the speaker, something I wanted to do myself but did not dare.
Then, suddenly, to my stunned astonishment, Mr. Zzyx picked up the untasted charlotte russe, which is custard in a form made of sponge cake, and hurled it at the speaker, who was directly opposite him. His aim was true, and the little rabbit man got the charlotte russe full in the face.
The guests roared with delight as the mighty hunter dug his features out of the spattering custard, while Henry shook Mr. Zzyx sternly by the arm, and whispered: "You ought to know better!"
Bubbling with mirth, I leaned over to McGinity, and said: "Too bad he got it in the face." To this, the reporter replied: "The main thing is that he got it."
After the bespattered speaker had gone to the lavatory to wash his face, the toastmaster rose, and said: "Now that Mr. Zzyx, our honored guest from Mars, has enlivened our dinner, we shall proceed to the surprise event of the evening.
"No one is asked to accept these new disclosures about Mars which our friend, Mr. Olinski, decoded from the mysterious writings of the scroll, discovered in the rocket, as infallible," he continued. "Even our fellow-scientist, Mr. Royce, who is accountable for this, and other recent events of a scientific nature, which literally have rocked the world, declares an uncertainty still exists in his own mind, and that he is simply making public the information that has fallen into his hands, from strange and unknown sources. In other words, he wishes me to make clear to you all that he's not trying to put something over on us. So, now, let's see what we shall see!"
The film, in four reels, was in the nature of a travelogue, beautifully colored, and interspersed with sound and music. Henry was the pictorial lecturer. McGinity's clever hand was seen in the numerous whimsies and dramatic highlights. Many scenes were genuinely stirring.
Mr. Zzyx, closely guarded by Niki in the darkened dining room, watched the picture unfold with fascinated interest. At times, he would gesticulate, strangely, like one familiar with the subject matter, and utter primitive sounds, as though he wanted to speak, and tell us more startling things about his home planet.