11 - A Royal Outing

As may be imagined after my untoward interview with Jupiter, the state
of my mind was far from easy. It is not pleasant to realize that you
have applied every known epithet of contempt to a god who has an
off-hand way of disposing of his enemies by turning them into
apple-trees, or dumb beasts of one kind or another, and upon retiring
to my room I sat down and waited in great dread of what should happen
next. I couldn't really believe that the Major Domo's statement as to
my having been forgiven was possible. It predicated too great a
magnanimity to be credible.

"I hope to gracious he won't make a pine-tree of me," I groaned,
visions of a future in which woodmen armed with axes, and sawmills,
played a conspicuous part, rising up before me. "I'd hate like time to
be sawed up into planks and turned into a Georgia pine floor
somewhere."

It was a painful line of thought and I strove to get away from it, but
without success, although the variations were interesting when I
thought of all the things I might be made into, such as kitchen
tables, imitation oak bookcases, or perhaps--horror of horrors--a
bundle of toothpicks! I was growing frantic with fear, when on a
sudden my reveries of dread were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"It has come at last!" I said, and I opened the door, nerving myself
up to sustain the blow which I believed was impending. Mercury stood
without, flapping the wings that sprouted from his ankles impatiently.

"The skitomobile is ready, sir," he said.

I gazed at him earnestly.

"The what?"

"The skitomobile, to take you to the links. Jupiter has already gone
on ahead, and he has commanded me to follow, bringing you along with
me."

"Oh--I'm to go to the links, eh? What's he going to do with me when he
gets me there? Turn me into a golf-ball and drive me off into space?"
I inquired.

My heart sank at the very idea, but I was immediately reassured by
Mercury's hearty laugh.

"Of course not--why should he? He's going to play you an
eighteen-hole match. You've made a great impression on the old
gentleman."

"Thank Heaven!" I said. "I'll hurry along and join him before he
changes his mind."

In a brief while I was ready, and, escorted by Mercury, I was taken to
the skitomobile which stood at the exit from the hall to the outer
roadway nearest my room. Seated in front of this, and acting as
chauffeur, was a young man whom I recognized at once as Phaeton.
Alongside of him sat Jason, polishing up the most beautiful set of
golf-clubs I ever saw. The irons were of wrought gold, and the shafts
of the most highly polished