Chapter 2 Chapter two

"Mitz! . . . Mitz! . . . " "What's the matter, my boy? . . . " "What's the matter with Uncle Dean?" "I'm also baffled." "Is he sick?" "That's not true! However, if this continues, he will definitely get sick." This question and answer was conducted between a young man of twenty-three and a woman of sixty-five in the very city of Weston, where the most uniquely American wedding had just taken place, in Elizabethan. Inside the dining room of a house. The house on Elizabeth Road belonged to Mr. Dean Forsyth.Mr. Dean Forsyth was forty-five and looked only a little more.Big head with disheveled hair, small eyes with deep glasses, slightly hunched back, and a necktie worn all year round on his stout neck. Underneath the fat, crumpled dress was a vest whose lower buttons had never been used, trousers too short to cover too large leather shoes, and a round hat with tassels on the back of the head to protect the With gray messy hair and a wrinkled face, on his chin is a goatee that the northerners of the United States love to keep. He has a violent personality and is always on the verge of anger.Such was the Mr. Dean Forsyth of which his nephew, Francis Gordon, and his old maid, Mitz, had been discussing on the morning of March 12th.

Francis Gordon's parents died when he was young, and he was brought up by his mother's brother, Mr. Dean Forsyth.Although his uncle had a portion of his property to leave to him, he didn't think he could stop working because of it, and neither did his uncle.The nephew, after studying the liberal arts at the prestigious Harvard, studied law, and is now an attorney at Weston, where orphans, widows, and property boundaries could not have found a stauncher defender.He is familiar with legal provisions and trial cases, and his speeches are enthusiastic, pertinent, and eloquent. His colleagues, no matter how young or old, respect him very much, and he has never made an enemy.He was a handsome man, with handsome chestnut hair, beautiful dark eyes, gentle demeanor, witty without being mean, courteous without being ostentatious.He was no stranger to the kinds of sports that fascinated the upper classes of America.How could he not be ranked among the most outstanding young men in the town, and how could he not be in love with Jenny Hudson, daughter of Dr. Hudson and his wife Flora Clarish? ...

But it is too early to turn the reader's attention to this young lady, and it would be better to have her appear with her whole family, and that moment has not yet come.But it won't be too late.However, we should be very disciplined in developing this story, because it requires us to be extremely precise. One more thing to add about Frances Gordon: he is at the house in Elizabeth Road, and will only leave there on the day he marries Miss Jenny... But let's put Jenny Heddle first Sen aside, let's talk about the good maid Mitz.Mitz was the bosom friend of her master's nephew, and she regarded him as a son, or rather a grandson, for grandmothers generally hold the highest record of maternal love.

Mitz was a model maid, and there are no such maids to be found these days.She belongs to an extinct species.This breed has both dog and cat qualities, she is as loyal to her master as a dog and as attached to the house as a cat.It is not difficult to imagine that Mitz was always outspoken to her master, and when he was wrong, she said it unequivocally, although her language was somewhat peculiar, and French could only roughly express her interesting thoughts, And if he didn't want to listen, there was only one way to get out of there, go back to his studio, and lock himself inside.Besides, Dean Forsyth never had to fear being alone there, where he was sure to meet another figure who had avoided Mitz's admonitions and reprimands in the same way.

This character is very commensurate with his title.This odd title comes from his small stature.If he wasn't too short, he would probably have been nicknamed Omega.He hadn't grown taller since he was four feet six when he was fifteen.He was at that age when he came to Dean Forsyth's house as a servant under the real name of Tom Weaver.The head of the family at the time was Dean Forsyth's father.He was now in his fifties, from which it may be concluded that he had been in the service of Francis Gordon's uncle for thirty-five years. The important thing is to explain what he did.He was in Dean Forsyth's job, and he loved it at least as much as his master.

That said: Mr. Dean Forsyth has a job too? Yes, this is a hobby. As for how impulsive and fanatical it is, everyone can comment on it. What was Mr. Dean Forsyth doing?medicine?law?literature?Art?buy or sell?Like so many free American citizens? totally not. So what is he doing?You have to ask, is it science? You can't guess at all.No, what he was doing was not a general science, but a special science, a unique, exclusive, noble science called "astronomy". All day long he dreamed of discovering a planet or a star.What goes on on the surface of our planet does not interest him at all, or almost at all.He lives in the vast expanse of starry sky.However, as he could eat neither lunch nor supper there, he had to come down from the sky twice a day, and it was on this morning that he did not come down at the usual hour.There was a long wait, so Mitz walked around the table, muttering and complaining.

"Does he not want to come?" she repeated. "Isn't Omicron there?" Francis Gordon asked. "He's where his master is," said the maid, "and I don't have the footwork anymore (yes, that's what the venerable Mitz said) to climb up to his cage." This so-called birdcage is an out-and-out round tower.The corridor at the top of the tower is twenty feet above the roof, and its official name is the observatory.There is a circular room under the corridor, with four windows facing south, east, north and west.There are several telescopes with various large multiples rotating on the bracket.If the lenses on these telescopes aren't old at all, it's not because they're underused.The thing to worry about is that Mr. Dean Forsyth and Omicron should not ruin their eyes by resting their eyes on the eyepieces of these instruments. These two men spend most of their days and nights in this room. , of course, they are interchangeable.They watched, watched, and swam through interstellar space, always hoping for a discovery to be associated with Dean Forsyth's name, and if the skies were clear, that would be all right.But it's not always sunny at 37 degrees north latitude.Thirty-seventh north latitude was the latitude of Virginia, and there were overcast clouds, cirrus clouds, rain clouds, cumulus clouds, and certainly more than both master and servant could hope for.How many sighs and threats thus have they uttered against the vault of clouds, where the breeze carries rags of cloud!

It was precisely these days towards the end of March that Mr. Dean Forsyth's patience was more than ever tested.The sky stubbornly refused to clear for several days, much to the disappointment of the astronomer. On the morning of March 21, a strong westerly wind continued to bring in tidal, almost ground-hanging clouds that were oppressive and depressing. "What a pity!" sighed Mr. Dean Forsyth for the twelfth time, after his last futile attempt to overcome the thick cloud cover. "I have a presentiment that we have missed an exciting discovery." How many sighs and threats have they uttered to the sky!

"That's quite possible," said Omicron, "and even very real, because a few days ago, in a corner of the blue sky, I seemed to catch a glimpse of..." "And I saw it, Omicron." "Then it's the two of us, at the same time!" "Omiclon! . . . " protested Dean Forsyth. "Well, you saw it first, there is no doubt about it." Omicron nodded meaningfully, "However, when I felt a glimpse of that thing, I felt that it was... that was..." "As for me," declared Mr. Dean Forsyth, "I conclude that it is a meteor traveling from north to south..."

"Yes, Mr. Dean, perpendicular to the direction of motion of the sun." "Perpendicular to the motion of the sun's surface, Omicron." "Of course it's the direction of the surface." "That day was the sixteenth of this month." "It's the sixteenth." "Seven thirty-seven minutes and twenty seconds." "Twenty seconds," repeated Omicron, "as I read it on our clock." "And it never came again," cried Mr. Dean Forsyth, pointing menacingly at the sky with one hand. "How could it appear? Clouds!...Clouds!...Clouds!...There hasn't been a blue sky the size of a handkerchief for five days!"

"It's all on purpose," cried Dean Forsyth, stamping his foot. "I really think these things happen to me." "It's us," corrected Omikron, who considered himself to have half his master's work. In truth, all the inhabitants of the district have an equal right to complain if the thick clouds continue to make the skies gloomy, for whether the sun shines or not is a matter of concern to all. But however universal this right may be, no one can be so arrogant as to think that he and Dean Forsyth Mr. is in a bad mood as well.And this kind of dense fog is not uncommon in Weston. In any case, on March 16th, when the sky was clear, the master and servant caught a glimpse, or thought they had a glimpse of something... a ball-shaped bolide, which moved visibly from north to south, with a speed of It was so fast and so radiant that it made the hazy sun pale in comparison.However, as it is only a few kilometers away from the earth, it would have been possible to continue to observe it for a considerable time, in spite of its great speed, had not an untimely cloud and fog prevented the observation. Since then there has been a stream of complaints from such unfortunate events.Could this bolide come back to Weston's horizon?Is it still possible to calculate its data and determine its volume, weight, and properties?Will another astronomer luckier than them spot it in another corner of the sky?Can Dean Forsyth have the discovery named after him, having only held it in the telescope for so long?In short, will all the credit go to the New World or some scholar in the Continent who spends his days and nights searching for space? "Boss! Pirates of the sky!" protested Dean Forsyth. On the morning of March 21st, despite the inclement weather, neither Dean Forsyth nor Omicron could make up his mind to leave the north-facing window.The more time passed, the more their anger grew.Now they don't even talk.Dean Forsyth's gaze scanned the vast horizon.In this direction the varied silhouette of Mount Seb limited the view, and above the mountains a fairly strong breeze drove the gray clouds.Omekron stood on tiptoe to expand his field of vision limited by his small stature.One is with arms folded and clenched fists pressed against the chest.Another tapped on the ledge with cramped fingers.Several birds flitted overhead, screeching, as if mocking the master and servant, who, as bipeds, could only remain on the surface of the earth! ……what!If they could follow the birds soaring, leaping to the clouds in a few strokes, they might be able to watch the little star continue its orbit in the blinding sunlight. At this time, someone knocked on the door. Dean Forsyth and Omicron were too absorbed to hear the knock at the door. The door opened and Francis Gordon appeared at the door. Dean Forsyth and Omicron didn't even look back. The nephew walked towards his uncle and touched his shoulder lightly. Mr. Dean Forsyth looked at his nephew with such distant eyes, as if they came from Sirius, to use the lower Riba language. "What for?" he asked. "Uncle, I am waiting for your meal." "Oh! yes!" said Dean Forsyth. "Wait for my meal! We're waiting too." "What are you waiting for...?" "Sun," Omicron announced.His Master nodded approvingly at the answer. "But, my uncle, I don't think you have invited the sun to lunch, and you can sit without waiting for him?" How can you refute this sentence?Would Mr. Dean Forsyth insist on starving till night if the bright planet didn't show his face all day? In any case, the astronomer did not appear to be willing to accept his nephew's invitation. "Uncle!" said the nephew again, "Mitz is in a hurry, I have something to say first." Now Mr. Dean Forsyth returned to reality.Fortunately, he was well aware of Mitz's quick temper.Since she has sent a special envoy, it means that the situation is serious and she should go there without delay. "What time is it?" he asked. "Eleven forty-six!" said Francis Gordon. Indeed, the clock indicated exactly this hour, and the uncle and nephew usually sat down face to face at eleven o'clock. "Eleven forty-six!" cried Mr. Dean Forsyth, concealing his uneasiness with feigned displeasure. "I don't understand why Mitz is so untimely!" "But, uncle," retorted Francis, "we have knocked three times, but there is no answer." Mr. Dean Forsyth went down the stairs without answering, and Omicron, who usually served the food, stayed behind to watch, until the sun reappeared. The uncle and nephew entered the dining room. Mitz is there.She looked at her master face to face, but the latter lowered his head. "Where's the clone brother?..." she asked, which was how she called the fifth vowel of the Greek alphabet benignly. "He's up there," replied Francis Gordon. "We won't have him at noon today." "Brilliant!" said Mitz in an exasperated tone. "Boy! He can stay as long as he likes on his Observatory (Observatory). Without him as a first-class stupid thing, everything just will do better." Lunch has started and everyone is now opening their mouths just to eat.Mitz, who is usually talkative when serving and unloading dishes, was silent this time.This silence is heavy, this restraint is embarrassing.Francis Gordon, wishing to change the atmosphere, asked for a few words: "Are you satisfied with your grades this morning, Uncle?" "No. The weather conditions are unfavorable, and this kind of weather particularly troubles me today." "Perhaps you will make some astronomical discovery?" "I think so, Francis, but I'm not sure." On a new observation "So that's what's been haunting you for a week, sir. Mitz said in a blunt tone, "It made you take root on the tower, and you got up in the middle of the night... Yes, I got up three times the night before, and I heard them all."Because, thank goodness, I'm probably not dazzled yet! ’ She added this in reply to a gesture from her master, and perhaps also to make him understand better that she was not yet deaf. "It is so, my good Mitz," admitted Mr. Dean Forsyth conciliatoryly. This kindness is superfluous. "The discovery of astronomical laughter (learning)!" said the respectable maid angrily, "when your efforts are exhausted, when you have a sore waist and leg pain or a lump in your lung from looking and watching in your tubes all day long!" (Bumps). Will it do you any good? Will your stars come to watch over you? Will the doctor make them into pills for you to swallow?" From the manner in which the conversation had begun, Dean Forsyth saw that it was best not to answer.He ate again in silence, but he was so flustered that several times he mistook the wine glass for the dish and the dish for the wine glass. Francis tried to keep the conversation going, but he was speaking as if in a desert.His uncle had a gloomy face, as if he hadn't heard.So he had to talk about the weather, and when people don't know what to talk about, they always talk about the weather, what's going on today, and what's going to happen tomorrow.This is an inexhaustible topic, and everyone, young and old, wise and foolish, can use it.Besides, meteorological matters were of great interest to Mr. Dean Forsyth, so that when a cloud thickened and darkened the dining-room, he looked up at the window, dropped his fork in frustration, and called road: "Couldn't these damn dark clouds exit the sky? Even if it's a downpour!" "Boy!" declared Mitz. "That's what no one would say no to for the good of the land after three weeks of drought." "Land! . . . Land! . . . . " said Mr. Dean Forsyth with such utter contempt that he elicited the following reply from the maid: "Yes, the land, sir. I don't think it is any less than the sky, though you never come down from it, not even to your lunch." "Well, my dear Mitz..." said Francis Gordon mildly. In vain, the good Mitz would not be softened. "I don't have my good Mitz here," she went on in the same tone. "It's not worth your time to look at the moon and not even know it's rainy in spring. If it doesn't rain in March, when will it rain?" ? I'd like to ask you." "It is true, my uncle, that it is early spring in March, and we must resign ourselves to it... But summer is coming soon, and the skies will clear up. Then you will be able to work under better conditions. Be patient. ,uncle!" "Be patient, Francis!" retorted Mr. Dean Forsyth, his face as clouded as the weather. "Be patient! . . . And what if it runs away and is never seen again? . . . What if it never appears on the horizon again?" "It? . . . " Mitz cut in. "Who is it?" Then came the voice of Omicron. "Sir! . . . sir!" "There is a case!" cried Mr. Dean Forsyth, pushing aside his chair hastily, and going to the door. Before he reached the door, a strong sunlight came in through the window, making the wine glasses and bottles on the table shine brightly. "Sun! . . . the sun! . . . " cried Mr. Dean Forsyth, climbing the stairs hastily. "It's God's will!" Mitz said, sitting on a chair. "He's gone, and he's locked up in the 'Immortal Terrace' with his cloned brother. You call him, but he doesn't hear anything! As for lunch, he will eat by himself." Eat yourself, and the Three (Holy) Spirits will help him... And it's all for the stars!  …” The brilliant Mitz spoke in this figurative language, though her master was out of hearing.Even if he could hear, such eloquence would be of no avail.Mr. Dean Forsyth had just stepped into the observatory, out of breath from climbing the stairs.The southwesterly wind got stronger and stronger, driving the clouds to the east, exposing a large piece of blue sky until the zenith.The entire patch of sky where the meteor had been observed was exposed.Sunlight illuminated the room. "How? . . . " asked Mr. Dean Forsyth, "what's the matter?" "The sun is out," replied Omicron, "but not long, for there are clouds again in the west." "Not a minute is wasted!" cried Dean Forsyth, turning his telescope as his servant turned an astronomical telescope. What feverishly they fiddled with their instruments for about forty minutes!How patiently they turned the screws to keep the telescope at the best angle!How carefully and intently they searched every nook and cranny of this part of the sky! … They were very sure that the bolide rose so high when it first appeared that day, then fell so far, and then passed exactly through Weston's zenith. No!There is nothing in this position!There was nothing on this large patch of blue sky, a wonderful place for meteors to walk.Not a single visible dot in this direction.The little star was nowhere to be seen. "Nothing!" said Mr. Dean Forsyth, rubbing his eyes, which were reddened by the blood rushing up the cap. "Nothing!" Omicron said like a plaintive echo. It was too late for other tiring efforts, the clouds came over again, and the sky darkened again.The sunny day is over again, this time it will not be sunny for a whole day.In no time the cloud was a dirty, gray mass, and it was drizzling.All observations had to be given up, and the master and servant were greatly disappointed. "But we did see it," Omicron said. "Never mind! . . . " said Mr. Dean Forsyth, stretching out his arms to the sky. Then he said in a tone of unease and jealousy: "It's just a little too sure, because others may have seen it as we did... I hope we're the only ones who saw it... I'm afraid he saw it too... He... Sidney Hurt Delson!"

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