"If you insist upon stating it in that way--yes," replied Edmund, smiling
also. "But you know that now you've consented."

"Perhaps you'll treat us to a trip to Paris," Jack persisted.

"Better than that," was the reply. "Paris is only an ant-hill in
comparison with what you are going to see."

And so, indeed, it turned out!

Finally all got out their pipes, and we began to make ourselves at home,
for truly, as far as luxurious furniture was concerned, we were as
comfortable as at the Olympus Club, and the motion of the strange craft
was so smooth and regular that it soothed us like an anodyne. It was only
those unnamed, subtle senses which man possesses almost without being
aware of their existence that assured us that we were in motion at all.

After we had smoked for an hour or so, talking and telling stories quite
in the manner of the club, Edmund suddenly asked, with a peculiar smile:

"Aren't you a little surprised that this small room is not choking full
of smoke? You know that the shutters are tightly closed."

"By Jo," exclaimed Jack, "that's so! Why here we've been pouring out
clouds like old Vesuvius for an hour with no windows open, and yet the
air is as clear as a bell."

"The smoke," said Edmund impressively, "has been turned into atomic
energy to speed us on our way. I'm glad you're all good smokers, for that
saves me fuel. Look," he continued, while we, amazed, stared at him,