with a fine smash-up when he tried to drive the chariot of the sun?"

"Not a bit of it," said Adonis. "That's all of it simple truth. I
happen to know, because I saw the finish of the whole thing myself,
and was one of the fellows who turned a fire-extinguisher on him and
saved him from being a total loss to the insurance companies. But he
learned his lesson. There's nothing like experience to teach caution,
and that little episode gave Phaeton caution to burn, if I may indulge
in mundane slang. He was guyed so unmercifully by everybody for his
carelessness that the first thing he did when he recovered was to
learn how to drive, and it wasn't six cycles before he was the most
expert whip in Olympus. He finally made a profession of it and
established a livery-stable. Then, when the automobile came in and
horses went out of fashion, he kept up with the times, and is to-day
in charge of all our rapid transit--he owns the franchises for the
Jupiter and Dipper Trolley Road, he is the largest stockholder in the
Metropolitan Traction Company of Neptune, Saturn, and Venus, and is
said to be the moving spirit back of the new underground electric in
Hades."

"I guess he'll do," said I, reflecting with admiration upon the
wonderful self-rehabilitation of one I had previously regarded as a
foolish incompetent.

"You won't have to guess again in this case," said Adonis, dryly.
"You've hit it right the very first time."

"Well, tell me about the links, Adonis," said I. "Getting there seems
to be an easy matter, but after you get there, how about the course?
Is it eighteen holes?"

"It is," said Adonis, "and of proper length, too, and splendidly
arranged. You start at the club-house right near the landing-stage and
play right around the planet, so that when you're through you're back
at the club-house again. At the ninth hole there is a half-way house,
where you can get nectar, and ambrosia, and sarsaparilla, and any
other soft drink you want."

"No hard drinks, eh?" I queried.

"Not at the half-way house," said Adonis. "We gods have too much sense
to indulge in hard drinks in the middle of a game. If you want hard
drinks you have to wait till you get back to the club-house."

"That is rather sensible," I said, as I thought of how a Martini
cocktail taken at the ninth hole had ruined my chances in the
Noodleport Annual Handicap last autumn. "But I say, Adonis," I added,
"did I understand you to say that you played all around