"No, I don't think you did."
"I'll show you. It's useful in study, especially for a slow poke like me. You'll find that this particular historical series makes several references to this book of United States history. You can stop the machine if you like and read the reference and then pick up where you left off. I'm glad they sent this series. They were directed by the same master who wrote the book."
"Where had I better start?"
"I would forget the books for a while and charge right through the historical recordings. Then I would view all the customs records. Then tomorrow you can start to run them piecemeal with the books, if you like. But be sure to read the Code of Customs all the way through. Lots of the customs aren't illustrated in these records."
"OK, where's that first record? See if I put it on properly. All right—let 'er roll." The cool calm voice of the announcer stated the title of the record and the period covered, then 'Washington, 1900'. Perry, staring into the stereoscopic picture, found himself floating over Pennsylvania Avenue facing west. It was winter and cold and grey. He moved along over a fairly dense traffic of carriages and hansoms, clop-clopping over muddy pavement and splashing through slush in car tracks. A street car clanged its bell and started. He floated over the tops of the vehicles and found himself approaching the White House. He entered the front door, proceeded to the West Wing and found President McKinley at his desk. Seated at ease near the President, but with his great frame exuding energy even in repose was the one and only Teddy, Teddy Roosevelt, the people's darling. "I tell you, Mr. President, the only way to handle it is to speak softly but to carry a big stick." The scene faded and others appeared with the voice of the commentator frequently in the background. Sometimes the voice carried the story and was merely illustrated by the living shadows. Again the picture presented the story and dialogue provided sufficient explanation, but constantly the scene shifted. At Kitty Hawk the Wright brothers lifted their 'crazy contraption' off the ground. The Panama Canal was dug and yellow fever conquered. 'Too proud to fight.' The Lusitania. War in the air. High Cost of Living. Automobiles poured over the continent. Chain stores melted into Tea Pot Dome and a market crash. 'My friends—' came out of a radio by a fireside and Boulder Dam climbed high. Then Perry leaned forward in tense anticipation as 1939 passed by. He kept very quiet for the better part of two hours except at first for a few ejaculations of surprise. After that, surprise left him. He stopped once to ask Diana for some cigarettes and again to get a drink of water. This time he discovered that Diana had gone out. A long time later he felt a touch on his shoulder.
"Don't you think that is about enough at one dose?"
"Oh!—Sorry, you surprised me. You're probably right, but it gets to be a vice." He snapped off the power. "It's as hard to put down as a detective story."
"What's a detective story?"
"A story about the solution of a crime. These were all the rage in 1939. Half the stories published were murder mysteries."
"Good Lord! Was murder that common?"
"No, but the stories were primarily puzzles—like a chess game."
"Oh—. But look, Perry, I called you to see if you would like a swim before lunch. Do you swim?"
"Sure, but where do we swim? Isn't it too cold?"
"No. You'll see. Come along." A door in the end of the room opposite the canyon opened directly outdoors, but instead of a January winter in the High Sierras, it was summer, summer in a tropical garden. The sun shone brightly on masses of flowers and on a patch of green lawn which bordered a little rock pool with clear water over white sand. The pool was just long enough for four or five strokes. Beyond the garden Perry saw winter and snow-capped peaks. Yet the garden and pool were apparently unprotected in any way from the rigors of the mountain climate.
Perry turned back to Diana. "Listen, Dian', I've believed everything else, but this is a dream. Put me out of my misery. How, how is it done?"
Diana smiled in delight. "It is nice, isn't it? I'll show you how it's done. Walk along the path by the pool. When you get close to the edge of the garden put out your hands."
Perry did as directed. As he reached the edge he stopped suddenly and gave a grunt of surprise. Then he cautiously ran his hand up and down what appeared from his actions to be a wall of thin air.
"Why, it's glass!"
"Yes, of course."
"It must have an amazingly low refractive index."
"I suppose so."
"Look, Dian', I can't see the stuff. Tell me where it is, so I won't bump into it."
"You won't. The garden is laid out to keep you a half meter or so from it and it's quite high enough overhead. The base of it runs all around here"—she indicated most of a semicircle—"From there it arches up to the house. If you look closely you can see the joint of the seal, and there it runs down the rock wall and back to the ground again. It is shaped like a giant bubble."
Perry mused. "Hm—I see. And that's why it doesn't need supports. But how did it get there in the first place?"
"It was blown in place, just like a bubble. It is a bubble. Look, did children blow bubbles when you were young?"
"Yes."
"Did you ever wet a dish or a box or a table top and blow a bubble on it and make it follow a shape you wanted?"
"Yes, yes, I begin to see."
"Well, first they painted the wall and a sheeting on the ground with sticky stuff—bubble mixture, right up to where the bubble is to stop. Then they put their bubble pipe gadget in the middle and commenced to blow. When the bubble just reached the proper size, they stopped."
"It sounds easy the way you tell it."
"It's not very. I watched them do this one and they broke four bubbles before one held up. Then it takes several hours to dry tough, and any little touch can ruin it until it does."
"I don't see yet how you can get glass to behave so."
"It isn't glass—not silicate glass anyhow, but a synthetic plastic glass. One of the technicians said it had molecules like very long chains."
"That's reasonable."
"I wouldn't know, but it's a sticky stuff when they decant it, like a white molasses, but it dries very hard and stiff like glass only it's tough, instead of brittle. It won't shatter and it's very hard to cut or tear."
"Well, it's a grand notion in any case. You know we had patios and outdoor living rooms and pools in gardens in my day, but it was generally too hot or too cold or too windy to enjoy them. And there were always insects; flies, or mosquitoes, or both. In my aunt's patio it was honey bees. It's very disconcerting when you're trying to sunbathe to have bees crawling over you and buzzing around your head."
"Are you sensitive to bee stings, Perry?"
"No. I can handle bees. They don't sting me, but they used to drive my aunt nearly frantic. The poor woman never did get any real pleasure out of her garden. They would sting her and she would swell up like a poisoned pup, and get sick to her stomach. Sad really, she did love her garden so and got so little fun out of it."
"Then why did she keep bees?"
"She didn't. One of her neighbors did."
"But that's not custom—Nevermind. I asked you about bee stings because bees don't sting anymore."
Perry clapped his hand to his brow and gave a look of mock agony. "Enough, woman enough! Tell me no more! No. Stop. One more thing. Answer me this question and I die happy. Do watermelons have seeds?"
"Did they used to have?"
Perry stepped to the edge of the pool, assumed a declamatory pose and orated: "Farewell, sad world. Papa goes to his reward! Sic semper seeds," nipped his nose between thumb and forefinger, shut his eyes tight and jumped feet first into the pool. He came up blowing to find Diana wiping water out of her eyes and laughing hysterically.