I wrung my friend’s hand in silent and grateful admiration.  I could say nothing.

“You have listened to the man of theory,” he said proudly.  “You shall now behold the practical engineer.  We will go to the west of the Mississippi and find some suitably level locality.  We will erect thereon a model Tachypomp.  We will summon thereunto the professor, his daughter, and why not his fair sister Jocasta, as well?  We will take them a journey which shall much astonish the venerable Surd.  He shall place Abscissa’s digits in yours and bless you both with an algebraic formula.  Jocasta shall contemplate with wonder the genius of Rivarol.  But we have much to do.  We must ship to St. Joseph the vast amount of material to be employed in the construction of the Tachypomp.  We must engage a small army of workmen to effect that construction, for we are to annihilate time and space.  Perhaps you had better see your bankers.”

I rushed impetuously to the door.  There should be no delay.

“Stop! stop! Um Gottes Willen, stop!” shrieked Rivarol.  “I launched my butcher this morning and I haven’t bolted the——­”

But it was too late.  I was upon the trap.  It swung open with a crash, and I was plunged down, down, down!  I felt as if I were falling through illimitable space.  I remember wondering, as I rushed through the darkness, whether I should reach Kerguellen’s Land or stop at the centre.  It seemed an eternity.  Then my course was suddenly and painfully arrested.

I opened my eyes.  Around me were the walls of Professor Surd’s study.  Under me was a hard, unyielding plane which I knew too well was Professor Surd’s study floor.  Behind me was the black, slippery, hair-cloth chair which had belched me forth, much as the whale served Jonah.  In front of me stood Professor Surd himself, looking down with a not unpleasant smile.

“Good-evening, Mr. Furnace.  Let me help you up.  You look tired, sir.  No wonder you fell asleep when I kept you so long waiting.  Shall I get you a glass of wine?  No?  By the way, since receiving your letter I find that you are a son of my old friend, Judge Furnace.  I have made inquiries, and see no reason why you should not make Abscissa a good husband.”

Still I can see no reason why the Tachypomp should not have succeeded.  Can you?

[5] Scribner’s Monthly, March, 1874.