The first thing that met the doctor's gaze, when his mind entered
that of his distant agent, was a clock. It was a very ordinary sort
of an instrument, such as one sees in schools and offices; it had
two hands, and a pendulum of the usual size and length.
However, this pendulum was swinging at a very rapid rate; nearly
twice as fast, judged the doctor, as that of his own chronometer.
And its dial was divided into twenty-five equal parts, instead of
twelve, each of these parts being further divided into five equal
portions. At the moment, these two hands indicated what would have
been called, on the earth, about half past three.
Before the doctor could speculate on this, his unknown agent shifted
his gaze to a newspaper on a desk before him. Apparently he was
thinking of something entirely different; for he absently turned the
pages, one by one, his subconscious mind taking it all in.
And the doctor saw that the paper was called simply The Hourly
Journal; that it was of very nearly the size of most sheets; and
that it consisted of about ten pages. The front and back pages,
only, contained news items; the remainder were packed solid with
advertisements. Not one of these were striking enough for the doctor
to remember; he said they were exactly like large-size professional
"cards," except that they applied to every business, from candy to
bridges. As for the news items, each was short, unsensational, with
the simplest kind of head-lines. More the doctor had no chance to
observe.
Abruptly the agent stowed the paper away, and looked up. Presumably
he was seated in some sort of a theater. Directly ahead was the
familiar white rectangle of a photoplay-house screen. And all about
him were heads and shoulders, seemingly belonging to young folks, of
about high-school age. Even to "low necks" for the girls and white
collars for the boys, they were identically like people of the
earth.
In fact, if it had not been for that clock the doctor would have
concluded that there was some mistake, and have ended the
experiment. For some time he learned little; the place was filled
with a confused murmur. His agent, however, took no part in the
conversation that produced this effect; once or twice he yawned.
Suddenly the buzz came to a stop; and next moment a tall figure
stepped upon the platform in front of the screen.
"Class," began this person immediately, "to-day we will summarize
what we have learned during the past week about the solar system of
which our planet is one element."
And as he spoke the doctor saw that there had been no mistake. For,
although the agent's subconscious mind had served to translate what
was said into language understandable by the doctor, yet his eyes
plainly told him that the professor's lips were saying something
else.
There was no doubt about it. For all that the doctor could tell by
watching the speaker's mouth, he might have been talking in Eskimo.
But his meaning was quite as clear as though he had said it in
English.
"We will begin with a picture of the sun herself." As the words were
spoken, a motion-picture film was projected on the screen. The
doctor instantly noted the natural colors, stereoscopic effect, and
marvelous clearness, such as branded this exhibition as not of the
earth. But the professor was saying:
"The sun controls, besides this world, no less than thirty
others"--and the doctor knew, as well as other people know their A B
C's, that the earth's planetary family consists of only eight--"no
less than thirty others, of which eight are now without life." The
speaker turned toward a student on the far left. "Tell us how many
of the thirty are still too hot to support life, Miss Ballens."
The girl did not get to her feet. "Ten," was her answer.
"Which leaves, of course, twelve besides our own planet which now
possess life in one form or another. Mr. Ernol, can you give us some
idea of conditions on any one of these?"
To the doctor's immense satisfaction, the brain whose loan he was
enjoying responded to the question. "On Saloni, the vertebrates have
not yet appeared. None but the lowest forms of life have been
found."
"Is this planet larger or smaller than ours, Mr. Ernol?"
"Larger. It will be a matter of millions of centuries before such
beings as humans are evolved there."
"How do we know these facts?"
As though it were a signal, the entire class, with one accord,
uttered a single word: "Runled!"
And the doctor found his agent's eyes turned, together with those of
every other student in the room, toward the portrait of a highly
intellectual-looking man; it hung in the most conspicuous spot on
the wall.
"We must never forget," continued the man on the platform, "that,
but for the explorations of this man and his space-boat, some eighty
years ago, we should know very little. Can any one tell me why his
explorations have never been repeated?"
Two hands went up. The professor nodded to a girl seated next to the
young fellow whom the doctor now knew as "Ernol." This girl spoke
very clearly: "Because the expedition was extremely costly, and the
commission has never been willing to appropriate enough to duplicate
the work."
"The commission's judgment is, of course, sound," commented the
professor calmly. Then he signaled for a change in the picture,
which had been showing, in rapid succession, glimpses of world after
world. The new picture was more leisurely.
"The planet Alma. Can any one explain why it is of special interest
to us?"
For a moment there was no comment, and the doctor found himself
studying a "panorama" of some exceedingly striking people. There was
quite a crowd; and the doctor was amazed to note how much like the
Venusians they were. Without exception they were delicately built,
with thin, shriveled legs; all were seated, none standing, in
cigar-shaped aircraft of a type entirely new to the doctor.
"The people of Alma," spoke up a boy out of sight of Ernol, "are
especially interesting to us because they are, so far as is known,
the most highly developed beings in existence."
"In what way are they like us?"
"They are vertebrates, mammals, primates, just as we are."
"And how do they differ from us?"
"They are 'cooperative democrats'; that is, they do not compete with
each other for a living, but work together in all things, in
complete equality. In this way they have become so wonderfully
advanced that--"
The professor interrupted. "We will not go into that." The scene
shifted from people to things: a large, complicated-looking column
of some sort was being shown. "What does this tell us?"
"It tells us," spoke up some one, "that Alma is entirely surrounded
and covered by a great roof, which stands several miles above the
surface." [Footnote: Compare with Venus. It would seem that,
whenever a planet reached a certain age, its people will always take
steps to preserve its atmosphere; that is, provided their
civilization is high enough.]
"What is the purpose of this roof?"
"To keep in the air and moisture, which all other planets are
steadily losing. Alma is a much older planet than ours, which is why
her people are so far advanced."
Next came "close-ups" of some inhabitants. At once the doctor saw
that these were not Venusians; they had facial expressions as sour
and cynical as the typical Venusian's had been pleasant and wise.
"You will note," commented the professor very quietly, "that these
people are far from happy."
The class seemed to take it for granted; but the doctor's trained
ears instantly caught a false note in the speaker's voice. Was the
man sure of his statement?
At the same time the doctor became aware of a certain dullness in
the vision he was borrowing. Also, the speaking became much less
distinct. It occurred to him that the boy might be drowsy; and an
unmistakable nodding shortly made this certain.
"As we see from these photographs," droned the voice on the
platform, "happiness does not exist on Alma. And if not there, where
else can we expect to find it? Certainly not among the less
developed planets.
"So we must conclude that ours is the only world where the people
are truly happy. We must thank the commission for the peculiar
distinction which we enjoy. Ours is the only civilization which
guarantees happiness to all; these pictures prove it for us."
At that instant young Ernol lifted his head with a jerk. "How do we
know," he demanded, "that these photographs were not very cunningly
selected to give us a wrong idea? Perhaps they lie, professor!"
Instantly consternation reigned. The professor fairly froze in his
tracks, while every eye in the room was turned in amazement upon the
lad.
"What!" exclaimed the speaker sternly. "Where did you get such an
extraordinary notion, Mr. Ernol?"
The boy had sat up straight, looking about uncertainly. He got
unsteadily to his feet. "Why--" he stammered helplessly. "Why, I
haven't any idea--What have I been saying, sir?"
The professor checked a hasty answer. He said quietly: "Do you mean
to say you are unaware that you spoke just now?"
"Yes, sir. I mean--" The boy was badly puzzled. "To be frank, sir, I
was almost asleep. I studied about Alma years ago. I know I said
something, but as to what it was--"
"That will do." The professor made a sign, and Ernol sat down,
tremendously embarrassed. "The class will understand that people,
when talking in their sleep, usually say things which are the exact
opposite of what they know to be true."
The man wet his lips, as though with satisfaction at the neatness of
his wording. He added in a generous tone: "I will not reprimand Mr.
Ernol, because his previous work indicates, as he says, that Alma is
an old topic to him. I only wish that he stood as well in certain
other studies!"
A ripple of laughter ran over the class, and again the puzzled youth
was the target for the combined stares of the students. He slipped
down deep into his seat.
"That will do for to-day," said the teacher, glancing at the clock.
"Tomorrow we will begin the study of the other suns of the
universe--what we commonly call stars.
"However, before you go"--his voice took on a certain
ominousness--"let me remind you that it is the custom not to
question the sources of our information. We take them for granted.
In fact, it is more than a custom; the regulations require that any
student who is not satisfied with the sincerity of our public school
system shall be suspended for the first objection, and for the
second shall forfeit all educational rights whatever.
"You will readily see for yourselves, then, that it will not be wise
for any of you to repeat what Mr. Ernol unconsciously let slip. And
of course none of you will be so unkind as to remind him of what he
said."
The students rose thoughtfully to their feet, and Ernol passed out
with the rest. He had no idea what it was all about, nor the
slightest suspicion that his eyes and ears had been used.
But the doctor had learned something of enormous value. He had
learned that, when his agent was in a semiconscious state, his--the
doctor's--conscious mind could influence the agent.
It was not Ernol, but the doctor, who had made the slip!