planet right in front of
us. It may be the one we're looking for."

Arrived in the belt of atmosphere, they tested it as before, and found
it satisfactory.

CHAPTER XII

The Mastery of Mind Over Matter

They descended rapidly, directly over a large and imposing city in the
middle of a vast, level, beautifully-planted plain. While they were
watching it, the city vanished and the plain was transformed into a
heavily-timbered mountain summit, the valleys falling away upon all
sides as far as the eye could reach.

"Well, I'll say that's SOME mirage!" exclaimed Seaton, rubbing his eyes
in astonishment. "I've seen mirages before, but never anything like
that. Wonder what this air's made of? But we'll land, anyway, if we
finally have to swim!"

The ship landed gently upon the summit, the occupants half expecting to
see the ground disappear before their eyes. Nothing happened, however,
and they disembarked, finding walking somewhat difficult because of the
great mass of the planet. Looking around, they could see no sign of
life, but they _felt_ a presence near them--a vast, invisible something.

Suddenly, out of the air in front of Seaton, a man materialized: a man
identical with him in every feature and detail, even to the smudge of
grease under one eye, the small wrinkles in his heavy blue serge suit,
and the emblem of the American Chemical Society upon his watch-fob.

"Hello, folks," the stranger began in Seaton's characteristic careless
speech. "I see you're surprised at my knowing your language. You're a
very inferior race of animals--don't even understand telepathy, don't
understand the luminiferous ether, or the relation between time and
space. Your greatest things, such as the Skylark and your
object-compass, are merely toys."

Changing instantly from Seaton's form to that of Dorothy, likewise a
perfect imitation, the stranger continued without a break:

"Atoms and electrons and things, spinning and whirling in their dizzy
little orbits...." It broke off abruptly, continuing in the form of
DuQuesne:

"Couldn't make myself clear as Miss Vaneman--not a scientific
convolution in her foolish little brain. You are a freer type, DuQuesne,
unhampered by foolish, soft fancies. But you are very clumsy, although
working fairly well with your poor tools--Brookings and his
organization, the Perkins Cafe and its clumsy wireless telephones. All
of you are extremely low in the scale. Such animals have not been k