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VISIT TO MARS.

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So Mr. PUNCH, holding TIME by the forelock, continued his journey.

“Where are we now?” asked the more elderly gentleman.

“My good friend,” replied the Sage of Fleet Street, “we are approaching Mars, which as you know, or should know (if your education has been completed under the supervision of the School Board) is sometimes called the Red Planet.”

“So I have often heard.  But why?”

“That is what we shall soon discover.  But now keep quiet, as we have arrived.”

With the gentlest of gentle shocks Mr. Punch and his companion found themselves on a mound, which they soon recognised as a mountain.  Looking below them, they saw masses of scarlet, apparently in motion.  It was then that TIME regretted that he had not brought with him his telescope.

“It would have been so useful,” he murmured, “and if a little bulky, what of that?  Surely Mr. Punch is accustomed to make light of everything?”

“See, some one is approaching,” observed the Sage of Fleet Street, whose eye-sight was better than that of his companion.  And sure enough a lively young officer at this moment put in an appearance, and saluted.

“Glad to see you both,” said he; “and, by order of the General Commander-in-Chief, you are to make what use you please of me.  I am entirely at your service.”

“Why, you speak English!” exclaimed Mr. Punch.

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“That is so!” returned the young officer in American; “and why not?  Besides I know French, Russian, German, and all the languages spoken on your little globe, to say nothing of the dialects used by those who inhabit the rest of the planets.  It’s our system.  Nowadays, a man in the Service is expected to be up in everything.  If he wasn’t, how on earth could he fight, or do anything else in a satisfactory fashion?  And now let us bustle along.”

“But first,” put in TIME, who did not relish being silent, “will you kindly tell us what those masses of colour are?”

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“Certainly.  They are troops.  We put them in scarlet in peace, but they appear in their shirtsleeves the moment war’s declared.  Novel idea, isn’t it?”

And then the pleasant-spoken young officer led the way to a lift, and, touching a button, the three descended from the top of the mountain to the valley beneath.

“On the counterweight system,” explained the A.D.C.  “We cribbed the idea from Folkestone, and Lynmouth.  And here, Mr. Punch, is something that will interest you.  We absolutely howled at that sketch of yours showing the mechanical policeman.  Don’t you know—­old woman puts a penny in the slot and stops the traffic?  And here’s the idea developed.  See that mechanical sentry.  I put a penny in the slot, and he pays me the usual compliment.  He shoulders arms, as I am only a captain—­worse luck!  If I were of field rank he would come smartly to the present.”