Ever since he had announced his discovery, my mind had been led by diverse paths, hither and thither, seeking, not an outlet, but rather a snug corner wherein to rest in the conviction that his and Olinski's claims of having established radio communication with Mars were true. Somehow I just couldn't grasp the idea of an intelligent exchange of ideas with another race of people so far away from us; it was too stupendous. As a matter of fact, I was still a little cynical and suspicious. And yet I knew if anyone had discussed the possibilities of the radio, as we know it today, in the time of General George Washington, as Henry was now agitating wireless communication with Mars, the people of the Colonial era would have thought such a person stark mad.
As McGinity's pencil flew across his note-book like a busy shuttle in a loom, transcribing Henry's utterances, I kept saying to myself: "How can this reporter accept facts that to him must seem perfectly crazy?" Then, suddenly, it came to me that to a reporter all things are either news or nothing. No matter if Henry was inventing something unreal, which, of course, he wasn't, he was giving the reporter news of the greatest magnitude; news backed by the potentialities of Henry's vast wealth and the reputation he had already achieved as a scientist.
Watching them closely, I marveled at that inherent physical virtue in each of them, by which they were enabled to shake off any thought, or mention, of the very recent and unfortunate incident in our midst. McGinity must have found the library infinitely more comfortable than solitary confinement in our cellar. It was also very evident to me that he was going up in Henry's estimation by leaps and bounds.
In repose, McGinity had a shy, reserved look about him that suggested the student. He had proved a perfect guest at lunch. It puzzled me that he should seem so much at home, so much part of our company and our setting. Once the first shock was over, Jane had found him a person of immediate interest and excitement. When she discovered that he loved to poke round art galleries, and liked canary birds and goldfish, as she did, she invited him to lunch with us soon again.
The absurd antagonism of Henry and Jane against reporters now seemed a thing of the past. But not everything of the past, on McGinity's part, was forgotten. There was no mistaking that he missed Pat, who was absent from lunch because Henry had devised a means of preventing a second meeting between them. He had packed her off, with Prince Matani, to a luncheon party at the Sands Cliff Club, after which they were to attend a polo match.
There is, after all, no use trying to go contrariwise to fate. Pat, it seems, was fated to come home alone from the match, after a tilt with the Prince—they quarrelled constantly—and Henry had a bad moment when she breezed into the library a few minutes after he had finished dictating to McGinity.
She was all exclamations and astonishment and delight on seeing the reporter. "Dear old Uncle!" she said, as she hugged and kissed Henry. "Why, on earth, didn't you tell me we were going to have a visitor?"
Henry didn't answer. He sat silent, even when Pat went up to McGinity, and said: "What a piece of luck!" Then: "Lets go out on the terrace, where it's cool."
Thereupon Henry found his tongue. "But it's quite comfortable in the library," he said. "Why not talk to Mr. McGinity here?"
"But I want him to see the Sound and the boats from the terrace," Pat replied. "It's such a beautiful scene."