“It’s pretty lonesome, Sandy; I reckon there’s a hitch somewheres.
Nobody but just you and me—it ain’t much of a display for the barkeeper.”
“Don’t you fret, it’s all right. There’ll be one more gun-fire—then
you’ll see.”
In a little while we noticed a sort of a lightish flush, away off on the
horizon.
“Head of the torchlight procession,” says Sandy.
It spread, and got lighter and brighter: soon it had a strong glare like
a locomotive headlight; it kept on getting brighter and brighter till it
was like the sun peeping above the horizon-line at sea—the big red rays
shot high up into the sky.
“Keep your eyes on the Grand Stand and the miles of seats—sharp!” says
Sandy, “and listen for the gun-fire.”
Just then it burst out, “Boom-boom-boom!” like a million thunderstorms in
one, and made the whole heavens rock. Then there was a sudden and awful
glare of light all about us, and in that very instant every one of the
millions of seats was occupied, and as far as you could see, in both
directions, was just a solid pack of people, and the place was all
splendidly lit up! It was enough to take a body’s breath away. Sandy
says,—
“That is the way we do it here. No time fooled away; nobody straggling
in after the curtain’s up. Wishing is quicker work than travelling. A
quarter of a second ago these folks were millions of miles from here.
When they heard the last signal, all they had to do was to wish, and here
they are.”