“I’ve thought of that,” answered Kearns, “but what are we to do? We’ve tumbled into this state of affairs, and it seems to me we must take things as we find them. The monarchy to us is a visible and tangible fact, whereas if we started out to-morrow to find the Reactionists we wouldn’t know where to look for them, nor whether they would want anything to do with us if we found them. Remember, too, that here we are, pitchforked into this new world, without visible means of support, and the first thing for a man to do is to find a sphere of occupation and employment. I’m retained to make certain discoveries in my particular line of professional usefulness. I’m like a scientist employed to analyze the contents of a particular stomach, or an advocate retained to present a certain line of facts favorable to a given side. I disclose the results of that analysis, or I present that particular line of facts regardless of those who may be affected thereby. It’s strictly in the line of my professional activity--entirely within the scope of my professional work and entirely conventional and proper. It doesn’t seem to me that it would be wise, though, for us to plunge into the troubled sea of politics--at least for the present.” “There is much truth in what you say,” replied the Professor. “Such discussion is, I suppose, fruitless. What more did you discover?” “First let me ask you a few questions,” retorted Kearns. “How about that steering balloon--that air-ship--of yours? How near was it to completion when you went to sleep?” “My air-ship!” repeated the Professor with astonishment. “The invention, as far as related to all the main points of discovery, was practically completed at the time this misfortune befell us.” “Misfortune!” repeated Kearns. “I really don’t know whether that’s the right way to put it. Remember if it hadn’t been for that misfortune, you and I would be shades, playing harps upon some damp cloud, for perhaps the last quarter of a century. A live scientist is worth a dozen dead geniuses any time. However, never mind about that. Let’s come back to the balloon.” “The air-ship!” corrected the Professor. “Well, then, the air-ship,” continued Kearns. “Tell me about it.” “Ah,” exclaimed the Professor with enthusiasm, “that involves quite an explanation on the subject of aëro-mechanics.” “Is it like a balloon?” questioned Kearns. “My dear sir,” exclaimed the Professor, “my air-ship differs as much from a balloon as a modern steamship from a mediæval caravel. Drifting aimlessly about between earth and sky in a balloon at the mercy of the air currents is one thing; to travel rapidly through space and navigate the air at will is an entirely different proposition. This latter is what my air-ship does.” “Ah!”