“These talking machines and the telegraph records beat those old harps we used to hear talked of in the Bible,” whispered Dick Tubman to his friend, Sam Cassidy, but the latter scouted the remark, declaring that the music of a jewsharp could not be excelled, and to verify his statement Sam gave a demonstration of an artist playing the jewsharp, which was received with applause. “I don’t feel like criticizing your choice of music,” said John Leatch, recently of San Francisco, “but you really should turn back to the stirring melodies of California when they sang ‘Empty is the Cradle, Baby’s Gone.’” “What a chestnut John Leatch has plucked,” echoed Captain James R. Dennis, as he smiled complacently at his old-time colleague. “Get your partners for Lancer’s quadrille,” came in stentorian tones from the master of ceremonies pro tem, A. R. Pippitt, and many ladies, once familiarly known to the fraternity in Chicago, New York, St. Louis, Omaha, San Francisco and other places throughout the United States, joined hands with their brother operators and were presently whirling on the green sward to the sweet strains of Strauss’ Blue Danube waltz, which followed the more formal square dance. The music was rendered by the miniature talking machine which had been entertaining the company all evening with songs, band melodies, telegraph records and now came in to be used for dance music. It was surely a lovely scene and everyone in the vast assemblage had something nice to say about the great wizard of modern times, who has added so much, not only to the comfort of all mankind, but has found it practicable to have every household possess an instrument of joy forever, which will make life on the farm, the shepherd’s hovel, the Indian camp fire, in fact, every place in this vast world, more delightful by the music and delineations reproduced by the modern talking machine. It was ascertained from Secretary Moxon that the latest advices from Mr. Edison showed he had retired to the top of Pike’s Peak, to be alone with nature and to solve some abstruse problems, and, understanding the vigils of the great inventor, Hankus Cowanus, a knight errant of the key, was detailed to signal the peak in hope of receiving some intelligence from him. “You can’t do it,” said Fred Moxon. “Your sending never did carry from Chicago to Cincinnati, even in your palmy days. Just leave it to me and you will have an ‘extra’ out next week which will tell you Mr. Edison knows every desire of your little heart and he is going about his Father’s business.” The matter was allowed to rest there and we will get more reports from these wonderful people later. CHAPTER XV. DEBUT OF HENRY WARD BEECHER ON PLANET MARS It was a bright, intelligent lot of men and women who called upon Secretary Fred B. Moxon, on the planet Mars, quite recently. The spokesman, Ernest W. Emery, who had in his possession half a year’s files of Telegraph and Telephone Age, addressed Mr. Moxon.