Saunders argued conscientiously, bringing out maps, conducting me over zigzag astral routes, and explaining that at intervals the mystic planet underwent semi-eclipse, but had observations been continued I would have noticed the oblong pink nebulous soar above the dark obstruction and caught a glimpse of an exquisite roseate scenery that was instantly obscured in thick, rolling, fiery clouds. I let him do most of the talking, he was more up on the subject than I; but his explanations were long, tedious, and thoroughly wearied me. I decided to give up astronomy. Yes, sir! I had all I wanted of astronomy, but insisted that my suppositions were as acceptable as any—no one knows more about it than the other, which is a mercy. The science is an unfathomable mystery ... guesswork. We are one in trillions, the neighboring lights wandering for eternity as we do and forming all manner of wild conclusions. I soon discovered the star-gazing clique regarded Saunders much as the National Geographical-Geological societies regarded Sheldon. Saunders was not considered a crank exactly, but he was primitive, ludicrous. His statements, theories, were received with suppressed merriment. For diversion the wise ones propounded the most impossible problems till Saunders, like the scientist who once driven almost mad trying to solve the unsolvable, seized his grandson and burdened the undeveloped mind with the improbable. The simple straightforwardness of tender faculties foreign of worry shredded intricacies and revealed the emptiness of all mysteries. In this manner Saunders patiently answered all queries and at the same time delivered himself of a rare truth. “A scientist,” he informed them, “will sometimes, in the course of experiment, chance upon a meteoric speck problem which immediately he buries deep beneath a heap of scientific rubbish; then in absorbed contemplation of shadows that stretch inquiringly forgets all about it. A mighty problem develops with flickering memory, and in a vain attempt to recall what is lost forever researchers are invited to delve into that which takes centuries of martyred concentration to realize—wasted inspiration never returns. Occasionally in this life the problem seeker is rewarded, then he wonders why and if it was worth a life of probing. “I don’t blame them,” said Saunders confidentially; “it is a wise man who makes of every task diversion. To some extent I suppose I represent what they were centuries ago, and the wide difference that does exist they chose to overlook. But I’ll accomplish in less than three months what they’ve been experimenting upon with failure for over fifty years.”