“Yahoo!” I said. “Whither?”
“To Wautoosa,” he replied. “Can I accommodate you?”
“You certainly can,” said I, “for I am from Wautoosa myself, and have
just been in an airplane wreck, which killed both my companions, two
bar-pootahs of the Imperial Air Navy.”
“Crawl in, then,” said he.
So I accepted his invitation and promptly fell sound asleep again in the
bottom of the kerkool, where my new host had the decency to let me lie
undisturbed.
In the morning we stopped at a roadside tavern, where I was awakened for
breakfast. The driver of the kerkool was a rich farmer ant on the way to
Wautoosa on government business from one of the southern provinces. He
had heard of me, and was very much interested in my recent adventures;
and I in turn was glad to find that I could talk with him quite
fluently. We spent the morning chatting pleasantly as we rode along; and
stopped for lunch at another tavern, where we ate a particularly
delectable mess of fried mashed purple grasshoppers, served with honey.
In the afternoon conversation lagged a bit; and finally, to kill time,
my host undertook to teach me how to drive the kerkool. The control was
not unlike that of an earth automobile, so I caught on readily enough,
and in fact drove the machine for the last hour or so, and into
Wautoosa, which we reached just before supper-time.
There I bade farewell to the ant and proceeded at once to headquarters
to report the loss of the plane to the winko, or admiral of the entire
air navy. Then I returned to my quarters, where I bathed and changed,
and had supper with Doggo, to whom I related the sad fate of his
friends.
Tabby was there and was glad to see me. But I should not say “see,” for
these pet buntlotes of the ants are totally blind, being guided entirely
by their sense of smell, which is very keen. They smell with their
antennae, as well as hear, these two senses being commingled in much the
same way as we are taught on earth to regard the two components of radio
waves: namely, electrostatic and electromagnetic.
But enough of Tabby’s methods of perception; Doggo informed me to my joy
that the Cupian lady had been moved to quarters adjoining my own; and
had expressed herself as no longer unfriendly toward me.
The next morning I called upon her.
I had now made sufficient progress with the spoken language, so that we
were able to chat quite pleasantly together. She had me tell my entire
adventures since my arrival on the planet, and punctuated my narrative
with many pretty “ohs” and “ahs” at the various points at which my life
was endangered and then spared. We parted very good friends, it seemed
to me. At least she no longer regarded me as a repulsive wild beast,
which was some consolation and encouragement.
In the succeeding days we became better and better acquainted, she
telling me a great deal about her planet, and I in turn telling her
about my life on earth. But I—warned by Doggo—never once suggested that
she tell me who she was; and she on her part showed no inclination to do
so.
Doggo, at my insistence, made no report to headquarters that her
hostility to me had ceased.
Frequently she and I dined together. Our favorite dish was a stew of
alta, the mushroomlike plant which the ant-men cultivate underground on
beds of chopped tartan leaves. The secret of growing this plant had been
carefully guarded by the Formians and has never been learned by the
Cupians. It tastes much like chestnuts, only not so rich, and forms the
chief part of ant diet, much like rice among the Japanese.
All this time I had seen nothing of my old enemy Satan; in fact, I had
seen nothing of him since he had tried to kill me many months ago. I had
dismissed him from my mind, and so was much surprised when one day he
swaggered into my quarters in a particularly truculent mood. Doggo was
with me at the time, and bristled up at the other’s approach. It was
plain that the two did not care for each other.
“How is your pet mathlab from the planet Minos?” sneered Satan.
Now, to call a person a “mathlab” is one of the worst insults that can
be offered on the planet Poros. It is as bad as to call a man a skunk, a
sandless puppy, and a cur all at once in the United States, or a
_chameau_ in France. And although the insult was directed at me, yet it
was spoken to my friend Doggo and it was he who had been really
insulted.
Doggo kept his temper admirably, but answered the sneer with another
sneer: “You forget yourself to speak so to a superior officer. My only
explanation is that you have been chewing some saffra root.”
The saffra is a peculiar narcotic plant which is cultivated on Poros
both for its anesthetic qualities and also for use in much the same way
as alcohol is employed on earth. So that Doggo had virtually accused
Satan of being drunk, which was both a charitable way of explaining
Satan’s insubordinate language and a deadly insult in itself.
Satan clicked his jaws in rage, and hurled at Doggo the words: “I’ll get
your number.”
To which Doggo calmly replied: “I’ll get yours.”
And to my surprise, the two rushed at each other and started fighting.
Never before having seen a duel between two ant-men, I did not then know
how common duels are, nor that they transcend all rank. The proper
formality for challenging to a duel is to say, as Satan had, “I’ll get
your number,” and the proper formality for accepting the challenge is to
speak as Doggo had spoken.
The battle was a sort of combined wrestling bout and fencing match, the
two huge creatures tumbling over and over on the floor, each trying to
get his mandibles at the other’s neck and each parrying with his own
mandibles the thrusts of the other.
Finally, to my horror, Satan slipped by Doggo’s guard and fastened his
jaws on Doggo’s throat. He could easily and instantly have severed
Doggo’s head, but he apparently preferred to hold him for a moment and
gloat over his victim, and this delay gave me the opportunity to come
out of my coma, seize a chair, and rush to Doggo’s rescue.
But, to my surprise, it was Doggo himself who ordered me back.
“This is a duel to the death,” he said, “and it is not etiquette for any
one to interfere.”
Satan turned his horrid eyes to me and remarked:
“Wait a few minutes until I finish your friend, and I will get your
number, too.”
“Go to it!” I replied in English, not then knowing the correct
formalities, but being perfectly willing to try my chances again with my
old enemy.
“What was that peculiar remark?” asked Satan. “Mathlab language? Or
perchance the way that half-wits talk on Minos?”
Keeping my temper, I answered: “What I said was for you to come and get
my number if you can.”
This diversion proved unfortunate for Satan. He should have severed
Doggo’s head while he had him in his power; for, while his attention was
distracted by his conversation with me, Doggo suddenly wrenched loose
and with a snap rolled Satan’s head upon the floor.
Then Doggo shook himself, went to the door, and called for assistance;
and shortly three ant soldiers entered, two of whom removed the dead
body, and the third of whom brought a paint pot and brush, with which he
proceeded to paint on Doggo’s back, under Doggo’s own number and the
string of smaller ones, the number which had been Satan’s in life.
So _this_ was the meaning of the small numbers and also of the formal
words used in challenging and accepting the challenge to a duel; Doggo
had got Satan’s number in truth. And now, so far as I knew, I had no
enemy on all Poros.
A few days later, in one of the corridors, I ran across the first male
Cupian whom I had ever seen at Wautoosa. He was even handsomer than the
Cupians whom I had met at the University of Mooni. In fact, he was the
most handsome Cupian man that I have ever seen, either before or since.
He had curly chestnut hair, a straight nose, and regal features and
bearing.
But he seemed furtive and in a great hurry. Dragging me into a near-by
room, he closed the curtains.
“Place your antennae close to mine,” he cautioned, “and radiate very
softly. This is a matter of life and death to one who is very dear to
both of us.”
“The beautiful Cupian?” I gasped.
“The very same,” he replied. “The Princess Lilla, daughter of King Kew
of Cupia, illegally detained as a prisoner by the Formians.”
So that was why her identity was sealed!
“And who are you?” I asked.
“I am her unhappy cousin, Yuri, next in succession to the throne of
Cupia,” he answered.
Yes, I had heard of him from his younger brother, Prince Toron, who had
been my assistant in the laboratories of Mooni.
Yuri continued: “I have long loved the beautiful princess, but she
ignored me. And so, blinded to all sense of right and wrong by my
passion, I arranged with the Department of Eugenics at Mooni to have her
kidnaped into Formia, for the purpose of forcing her to marry me and
thus inaugurate a strain of perfect Cupians.”
I knew, from Toron, of Yuri’s great influence among the ant-men, due to
his being the leader of the court party in Cupia who believed in the
most abject adherence to the treaty of Mooni. And I could well believe
that a splendid race would spring from this pair, the two most perfect
specimens of all Cupia.
Yuri went on with his tale: “All of Cupia was turned upside down
searching for the princess, but of course no searching by Cupians was
possible in Formia, and the authorities of the latter country gave out
no intimation that they knew the whereabouts of the princess. My
implication in Lilla’s kidnaping was unknown to her; and so, on meeting
me here at Wautoosa, she hailed me as a possible rescuer.”