Soon as he ended and before the audience applauded Kerney gestured that it was sherry serving time, unless we were on the coat detail which I wasn’t. I fetched my tray, arranged the glasses on it soon as they were filled, and slipped into the smaller reception hall where the guests were milling about. I stayed in my assigned post till my tray emptied then went and loaded up again while Jonathan and one of the other stewards collected the empties, our routine until Kerney’s signal to clean up. As I stood there, my mind alternating between the account of the balloon flight and thoughts about souping turtles, which I hated to do, all that shell and tendon and soft flesh, up came young Mr. Robins, with Mr. Linde. I extended them the tray of sherry and Mr. Robins acknowledged it with a half smile, as he said to his friend, “But they have always been unreasonable. It does not take the most careful student in the history of this country, Neddy, to grasp that every foot we have given them has been turned not just into an ell but a tyrant’s mile, especially under Buchanan, and it was on the pretext of last fall’s campaign, let alone victory, that they began the process for cleaving us in two. I view this mess as the opportunity to discipline them once and for all.”
Mr. Linde did not say anything at first, but sipped his sherry and stroked his chestnut mustache, nearly as sparse as mine though he was, I knew, in his early twenties like Mr. Robins. Another man round the same age approached them, Rev. Hodge, whom I overheard tell someone’s guest at my first shift back in February that he had only a few years ago graduated from the theological seminary in New Jersey. He said, “Peter, don’t you think that if we pursue things as Lincoln appears likely to do this will all turn out very badly? Speaking not as a clergyman but as an American. There’ll certainly be consequences.”
Mr. Robins finished off his sherry in a gulp. I accepted his empty glass and passed him another. I glanced to my right and Horatio, perched like me with his tray almost empty, was watching me closely, as if he was trying to tell me something I should be able to figure out, while to my left I saw Jonathan collecting more empty glasses. I looked back at my tray and tried to imagine how many people would be manning and attending the party I was working tonight, if there’d be a band or not or two, like the event I had jobbed two weeks ago out at the estate in Merion. They had carried on so well past dawn that we all had to sleep on the cellar or attic floors till morning, then we helped the man’s staff clean up and each of us got a little $2 more, because those people, Dameron said, had so much money it was flowing like the Bushkill Falls, and that man even provided us with special coaches to get back to the city so we didn’t have to walk or hop the railway—
—“Neddy,” Mr. Robins was saying, “is playing the taciturn but he has stronger convictions on the matter than me, Hodge, I assure you. He’s still taken with Lowe’s lecture, clearer to his mind than mine, but then he is the one who studied such things at the old college.” At this Mr. Linde nodded. “Remember he’s the one who made a pilgrimage up to Cambridge to spend a year studying at Lawrence. The whole time Lowe was lecturing he was probably transforming the words into equations.”
Mr. Linde continued sipping for a bit before pulling a small bound notebook and pencil from his inner coat pocket. He said, tapping his temple with the book, “This is just between us,” and, leaning in, Mr. Robins and Rev. Hodge bowing in close too, continued, “but if Lowe does get an aeronautic corps going, I’ll be first on his list. I was planning to sign up in any case, but I especially fancy flying in one of those contraptions, even if we end up sailing off to Florida or some other preposterous place.” He and Mr. Robins started laughing but Rev. Hodge shook his head. None saw the older Mr. Robins, Dr. Cresson, and Professor Lowe approach until they stood right behind the younger trio.
Mr. Robins senior offered his round of introductions, and young Mr. Robins, Rev. Hodge and Mr. Linde all praised Professor Lowe’s lecture, thanking Dr. Cresson and Dr. Leidy, who I could see was circulating on the other side of the room, for inviting him. They launched into some small crosstalk until young Mr. Robins abruptly said, pointing to me with his near-empty sherry glass, “This boy here pays as much attention as we do, don’t you, Theodore?” and I immediately grew nervous because I had never ever said a single thing in front of Dr. Cresson beyond “Yes, Sir,” or “Thank you, Sir,” and usually only played young Mr. Robins’s “game” with his friends and the given month’s guest. I smiled, raised the tray, and smiled again, but young Mr. Robins persisted, saying, “Come on, Theodore, why don’t you tell our guest, Professor Lowe, at least one thing you heard him talk about?” Mr. Robins senior was looking at me, Dr. Cresson was frowning, and Rev. Hodge’s cheeks were deepening to wine, but Professor Lowe and Mr. Linde looked like they expected to hear me speak, to respond to young Mr. Robins’ request. I wanted to call Jonathan over, snare Horatio’s attention, even have Kerney bail me out by snatching me away, because the whole room appeared to be pausing until I uttered my reply.
I said, “Professor Lowe say — said — that when he flew the Pioneer balloon last year, watched even by the Japanese ambassadors and their retinue, it rose to two and one half miles above this city, Philadelphia, and he experienced a ‘mirror effect’ in the clouds, then he travel — traveled — all the way to New Jersey’s ocean-side before the lower currents brung it back about 18 miles to here.”
Professor Lowe’s eyes scoured my face, they all did, then he turned to young Mr. Robins and said, “This boy apparently took exceptional mental notes, I barely remember having said that, correct though it is, at all.” He clapped, then they all clapped, save Rev. Hodge, who appeared somewhat annoyed. After Professor Lowe patted me on the shoulder, nearly causing me to drop my tray, they dispersed toward another group, except young Mr. Robins, who told me, “That was splendid, Theodore. Before you leave today you will get quite a treat.” Mr. Edward Linde walked back over, and looking me straight in the eyes, said, “Like a little machine. I especially appreciated the details because my memory is like pumice stone—” to which young Mr. Robins said, “Though you can work anything out from first principles, Neddy, which is more than I or anyone else in this room can do.” Mr. Linde handed me a carte de visite, which I tucked in my pocket, continuing, “so if you find yourself seeking work, write me or call upon me care of that address and you can join me at the Aeronautic Corps, wherever we are.” Young Mr. Robins patted me on the head, as he usually did, and said to his friend, “You know, I’ll even put Theodore in a balloon and have him fly himself down there to you, or perhaps in a BOX to do the same,” at which he burst out laughing so hard he had to take out his handkerchief to wipe his eyes. He kept repeating “Box” to Mr. Linde, who did not appear to find it humorous, as they joined a nearby circle.
All the while I was wondering if Mr. Edward Linde was the son of or somehow related to Mr. Albert Linde, the host of the evening’s event, and I thought given how he had addressed me that maybe I should say something, yet we were forbidden to talk to the members or guests unless they spoke to us first. Later, when we were done, young Mr. Robins before he left gave me several crisp bills about which he said, Mr. Edward Linde standing right there, “Don’t tell a soul” although I knew Kerney, Jonathan and the others had seen him give me something extra after we played his “game,” and I thanked him profusely and replied that I wouldn’t. As he filed out Mr. Edward Linde, looking straight at me, once again tapped his temple with his notebook and stated in a clear voice, “Remember.”