JOHN CARTER COMES TO EARTH

 

Shea had just beaten me at chess, as usual, and, also as usual, I had gleaned¹ what questionable² satisfaction I might by twitting him with this indication of failing mentality³ by calling his attention for the nth time to that theory, propounded⁴ by certain scientists, which is based upon the assertion that phenomenal chess players are always found to be from the ranks of children under twelve, adults over seventy-two or the mentally defective—a theory that is lightly ignored upon those rare occasions that I win. Shea had gone to bed and I should have followed suit, for we are always in the saddle here before sunrise; but instead I sat there before the chess table in the library, idly blowing smoke at the dishonored head of my defeated king.

 

While thus profitably employed I heard the east door of the living-room open and someone enter. I thought it was Shea returning to speak with me on some matter of tomorrow's work; but when I raised my eyes to the doorway⁵ that connects the two rooms I saw framed there the figure of a bronzed giant, his otherwise naked body trapped with a jewel-encrusted harness from which there hung at one side an ornate short-sword and at the other a pistol of strange pattern. The black hair, the steel-gray eyes, brave and smiling, the noble features—I recognized them at once, and leaping to my feet I advanced with outstretched hand.

 

"John Carter!" I cried. "You?"

 

"None other, my son," he replied, taking my hand in one of his and placing the other upon my shoulder.

 

"And what are you doing here?" I asked. "It has been long years since you revisited Earth, and never before in the trappings of Mars. Lord! but it is good to see you—and not a day older in appearance than when you trotted⁶ me on your knee in my babyhood. How do you explain it, John Carter, Warlord of Mars, or do you try to explain it?"

 

"Why attempt to explain the

分享到：