must have paled, for he glanced at me apprehensively and added, “Don’t allow yourself to worry. Remember, complete resignation to whatever fate is in store for us is the only way to meet natural catastrophes.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “Man may be the master of his own fate as regards his relation to his fellowmen, but he has no hand in an affair like this!”
“None whatever,” smiled Marden, and I thought it seemed the very nicest smile in the world, except possibly Vera’s.
“If we are destined to plunge headlong into this sun that lies directly in our path, and is undoubtedly what is drawing us onward, you may rest assured that human suffering will be less prolonged than if we pass this sun and continue to fathom the abyss of the eternal ether. If we were to plunge into it, the Earth would become a gaseous mass.”
“Tell me,” I pleaded, “is it because we are not rotating, that we are threatened with this awful disaster?”
“Yes, I believe so,” he answered slowly. “If we had continued to rotate we might have escaped the powerful drawing force of this sun.”
VII.
Since young Marden had taken me into his confidence I spent many hours of each waking period, for one could not call them days, at his side studying the star which grew steadily brighter. I believe as I look back through the years of my life that the increasing magnitude of that star was the most appalling and ominous sight I had ever beheld. Many were the times that in dreams I saw the earth rushing into the blazing hell. I invariably awoke with a scream, and covered with perspiration. I sat, it seems, for days at a time watching it, fascinated as if under the hypnotic influence of an evil eye. Finally its presence could no longer be kept a secret from the others who saw outside the windows the brightness that increased as time went on.
Printed indelibly on my memory was our first excursion out of doors after three years of confinement. Walking warily along the deserted streets, we were reminded of the ancient cities of Herculaneum and Pompeii. It was not ashes and lava that had worked the doom of hundreds of human beings; the destroyer in this case was intangible, but nevertheless potent. Many silent huddled forms were seen here and there, bringing tears to our eyes as we recognized this friend and that; but the greatest tragedies were in the homes where many whole families were discovered grouped together around whatever source of heat they had temporarily relied upon for warmth. We learned that none who had depended upon coal had survived the frigidity, and in some instances starvation had wiped out entire households.
The scene which was the greatest shock to the reconnoitering party was that staged in Guy Barnes’s store. The old grocer had been game to the end, and his body was found behind the counter, where he had apparently been overcome by the intensity of the cold during his labors for his fellowmen. The last overwhelming cold had descended so swiftly that many had been unable to reach shelter in time.
Next came the sad task of burying our dead. Prompt action was necessary, for the ever-growing disk of the great sun hastened the process of decay. The simplest of ceremonies were all that could be employed by men and women struggling to return the living world to pre-catastrophic normality.
The sun grew terrible to behold, as large in diameter as our old sun. Still it seemed good to be once more in the open! The children scampered about, and Ed and I had a race to the square and back. Scorch to death we might in a very short time, but it was certainly a pleasant thing to spend a few days in this solar glow which we had been denied so long.
Came a time when we could no longer be ignorant of the fact that it was growing uncomfortably warm. Finally we decided to do as everyone else was doing; pack up our earthly possessions and move to a part of the Earth’s surface where the heat was not so direct.
Ed came over, mopping his forehead with his handkerchief.
“You folks about ready?” he queried. “We’re all packed up. The Mardens are going in our car.”
I walked to the door and gazed across the seared landscape toward the mammoth fiery orb. Suddenly I gave a startled cry. The new sun was not in its accustomed place in the heavens. It was several degrees lower down, and to the east!
“Look!” I cried, pointing with trembling finger. “My God—do you see?”
I think Ed concluded I had gone insane, but he followed the direction of my gaze.
“Jim, old fellow, you’re right,” he ejaculated, “as sure as Mars was farther from the sun than we were, that sun is setting, which means—”
“That we are rotating on our axis and probably revolving around the new sun,” I finished triumphantly. “But we are turning from east to west instead of from west to east as formerly. If the whole world wasn’t temperate nowadays I should think I had been imbibing some of the poisonous drink of our ancestors!”
VIII.
That evening the townspeople who had not already migrated to cooler regions held a jubilee in Central Park Square. The principal speaker of the evening was Oscar Marden, who explained to the people what capers our planet had been cutting during the past three years. After his address I noticed that he kept gazing skyward as if unable to bring his attention to Earth.
“Say, will you come to the observatory with me now?” he asked as I was talking to a group of friends shortly afterward.
“I’ll be right along,” I replied.
Scarcely half a block away we saw Ed Zutell going in the general direction of home.
“Do we want him?” I asked, not a little annoyed. “Can’t we beat it up an alley? I’d like this conference alone, for I know by your manner you have something important to tell me.”
“In the last part of what you say you are right,” responded Marden, “but in the first part, wrong. I do want Ed, for I have something to show him, too.”
When the three of us were again in the familiar setting of the past three years, Marden gazed for quite some time at the heavens through the great instrument. Finally he turned to us with a wry smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes.
“Just take a peep, boys, and tell me what you see.” He strove in vain to conceal his amusement.
We both agreed that we saw a rather reddish star.
“That ‘reddish star,’” said Oscar, impressively, “is our old friend, Mars, and he is revolving in an orbit between us and the sun!”
Ed and I looked at each other speechlessly for some seconds; then without a word Ed dropped on his knees before me in something of the fashion of an Arab bowing toward Mecca.
“What’s the big idea?” I asked, not a little frightened, for I wondered if the confinement of the years had crazed him.
Oscar was laughing so that he had to hold on to the telescope for support, so I concluded there was nothing very radically amiss in the situation.
“I am worshiping a god,” said Ed, “for so I would call anyone who can move the planets about so that they line up in accordance with his conceptions of the way they ought to do.”
“I’d like to take the credit,” I laughed, then more seriously, “but a higher authority than mine has charge of the movements of the planets.”
“Well,
