Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 18, 1928 — page 61: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

BEYOND THE STARS. “No!” said Dr. Weatherby. ‘“ Don’t go! We must stay in the vehicle!” But when we turned toward it the men resisted us with a sudden stubhorn force. “Don’t!” I shouted. “ Jim, stop that! We'd better go with them!” The old white- haired men seemed to have gone into a sudden panic of violence. They were push- ing, shoving us. They obviously had lit- tle strength; but the commotion would draw others from outside. We yielded, and they herded us down the long room. A panel slid aside. We crossed a long, narrow viaduct—a metallic bridge with high parapet sides. We seemed to be a hundred feet in the air. I caught a vista of low-roofed buildings; verdure—fiant flowers on the roofs; streets down there; and off in the distance a line of hills. The air was soft and pleasant. Over- head was a blue sky, with gray-white masses of clouds. There seemed to be no sun. The light was stronger than twi- light, but flat, shadowless. At the opposite end of the viaduct the ground seemed rising to a hill. <A small mound-shaped building was there—a house with a convex roof which had a leveled platform on one end, a platform banked with vivid flowers. It seemed a two-storied building, built of smooth, dull-gray blocks. Balconies girdled it. There were windows, and a large lower doorway, with a broad flight of circular stairs leading up the hill to it. Our viaduct led us into the second floor of the house. We entered upon a large room, an oval, two-storied room so that we found ourselves upon a sort of second- story platform, midway from floor to ceiling. Low couches were here—a row of them with sliding panels of what might have been paper dividing them. The platform —this second story—was some thirty feet broadly oval. It had a low encircling rail- ing; a spiral staircase led downward to the main floor of the apartment. I saw furniture down there of strange, unnatural design; a metallic floor splashed with vivid mosaic pattern; a large gray frame, ornately carved, with a great num- 859 ber of long strings stretched across it, strings of different length. It seemed not unlike an enormous harp lying horizontal. _ Narrow windows, draped with dark gauze, were up near the ceiling. They ad- mitted a dim light. This whole interior was dim, cool and silent. A peace, a rest- fulness pervaded it. And our captors—if captors they were—seemed more like proud hosts. They were all smiling. But when they left a moment later, I fancied that they barred the door after them. “Well,” said Jim. that this is very nice. Let’s look things over and then go to bed. I’m tired out, I can tell you that—say, Dolores, it just occurred to me—these fellows can’t under- stand a word we say. But you were think- ing thoughts to them awhile ago—and you understood each other. Why don’t you try that now?” It had occurred to me also. Why had these pecple understood Dolores’s thoughts, when her words were incomprehensible? Were thoughts then the universal language? Tiny vibrations which each human brain amplified, transformed, into its own version of what we call words? It seemed so. Dolores was clinging closely to Alice’s hand. In these unfamiliar surroundings she was at a loss to move alone. ‘““T did,” she answered Jim. “TI tried —but there was so much noise—they could not hear me.” “Try now,” said Dr. Weatherby. “T will. I am.”. She stood motionless, hands to her forehead. “I’m trying—I think—” ‘There was a long silence. “I think—yes, some one thought to me, ‘ The Man of Language will come to you,” “Ts that all, Dolores?” “"Yes—that’s all. It’s gone.” “The Man of Language!” Jim ex- claimed. “ An interpreter! That’s all right. Dolores, what about that young man and girl who were in distress? They were out here, weren’t they?” “T don’t know. thoughts now.” 73 Try.” “T have tried. They may—get mine. I can’t say. But they never answer.” “T can’t say but Gomichbooks I never get their (E@)