J. T. Maston was no longer master of himself. Whether he
shouted or gesticulated, ate or drank most, would be a difficult
matter to determine. At all events, he would not have given his
place up for an empire, "not even if the cannon-- loaded,
primed, and fired at that very moment--were to blow him in
pieces into the planetary world."





CHAPTER XVII


A TELEGRAPHIC DISPATCH


The great works undertaken by the Gun Club had now virtually
come to an end; and two months still remained before the day for
the discharge of the shot to the moon. To the general impatience
these two months appeared as long as years! Hitherto the smallest
details of the operation had been daily chronicled by the journals,
which the public devoured with eager eyes.

Just at this moment a circumstance, the most unexpected, the
most extraordinary and incredible, occurred to rouse afresh
their panting spirits, and to throw every mind into a state of
the most violent excitement.

One day, the 30th of September, at 3:47 P.M., a telegram,