Yes, dear, it's me. I'm down here on the Earth and in our Settlement
House, safe and sound. I meant to have called you up before, but really
this is the first moment I have had to myself all day.--Yes, of course,
I said "all day." You know very well they have days and nights here,
because this restless little planet spins, or something of the sort.--I
haven't the least idea why it does so, and I don't care.--I did not
come here to make intelligent observations like a dowdy "Seeing Saturn"
tourist. So don't be Uranian. Try to exercise intuitive perception if I
say anything you can't understand.--What is that?--Please concentrate a
little harder.--Oh! Yes, I have seen a lot of human beings already, and
would you believe it? some of them seem almost possible--especially
_one_.--But I will come to that one later. I've got so much to tell you
all at once I scarcely know where to begin.--Yes, dear, the One happens
to be a man. You would not have me discriminate, would you, when our
object is to bring whatever happiness we can to those less fortunate
than ourselves? You know success in slumming depends first of all upon
getting yourself admired, for then the others will want to be like you,
and once thoroughly dissatisfied with themselves they are almost certain
to reform. Of course I am only a visitor here, and shall not stay long
enough to take up serious work, so Ooma says I may as well proceed along
the line of least resistance.--If you remember Ooma's enthusiasm when
she ran the Board of Missions to Inferior Planets, you can fancy her now
that she has an opportunity to carry out all her theories. Oh, she's
great!
My transmigration was disappointing as an experience. It was nothing
more than going to sleep and dreaming about circles--orange circles,
yellow circles, with a thousand others of graduated shades between, and
so on through the spectrum till you pass absolute green and get a tone
or two toward blue and strike the Earth color-note. Then with me
everything got jumbled together and seemed about to take new shapes, and
I woke up in the most commonplace manner and opened my eyes to find
myself externalized in our Earth Settlement House with Ooma laughing at
me.
"Don't stir!" she cried. "Don't lift a finger till we are sure your
specific gravity is all right." And then she pinched me to see if I was
dense enough, because the atmosphere is heavier or lighter or something
here than with us.
I reminded her that matter everywhere must maintain an absolute
equilibrium with its environment, but she protested.
"That's well enough in theory; you must understand that the Earth is
awfully out of tune at present, and sometimes it requires time to
readjust ourselves to its conditions."
--I did not say so, but I fancy Ooma may have been undergoing
readjustment.--My dear, she has grown as pudgy as a Jupitan, and her
clothes--but then she always did look more like a spiral nebula than
anything else.
(_The record here becomes unintelligible by reason of the passage of a
thunderstorm above the summit of Long's Peak._)
--There must be star-dust in the ether.--I never had to concentrate so
hard before.--That's all about the Settlement House, and don't accuse me
again of slighting details. I'm sure you know the place now as well as
Ooma herself, so I can go on to tell what little I have learned about
human beings.
It seems I am never to admit that I was not born on Earth, for, like all
provincials, the humans pride themselves on disbelieving everything
beyond their own experience, and if they understood they would be
certain to resent intrusions from another planet. I'm sure I don't blame
them altogether when I recall those patronizing Jupitans.--And I'm told
they are awfully jealous and distrustful even of one another, herding
together for protection and governed by so many funny little tribal
codes that what is right on one side of an imaginary boundary may be
wrong on the other.--Ooma considers this survival of the group-soul most
interesting, and intends to make it the subject of a paper. I mention it
only to explain why we call our Settlement a Boarding-House. A
Boarding-House, you must know, is fundamentally a hunting pack
which one can affiliate with or separate from at will.--Rather a
pale yellow idea, isn't it? Ooma thinks it necessary to conform
to it in order to be considered respectable, which is the one thing
on Earth most desired.--What, dear?--Oh, I don't know what it means
to be respectable any more than you do.--One thing more. You'll have
to draw on your imagination! Ooma is called here Mrs. Bloomer.--Her own
name was just a little too unearthly. Mrs. signifies that a woman is
married.--What?--Oh, no, no, no, nothing of the sort.--But I shall have
to leave that for another time. I'm not at all sure how it is myself.
By the way, if _any one_ should ask you where I am, just say I've left
the planet, and you don't know when I shall be back.--Yes, you know who
I mean.--And, dear, perhaps you might drop a hint that I detest all
foreigners, especially Jupitans.--Please don't laugh so hard; you'll get
the atmospheric molecules all woozy.--Indeed, there's not the slightest
danger here. Just fancy, if you please, beings who don't know when they
are hungry without consulting a wretched little mechanism, and who
measure their radius of conception by the length of their own feet.--Of
course I shall be on hand for the Solstice! I wouldn't miss that for an
asteroid!--Oh, did I really promise that? Well, I'll tell you about hi-m
another time.