e Major Domo, "and my
observation is that most people do."

"I should admire to sail upon it," I said, gazing back through the
door that opened upon Jupiter's yachting parlors, and realizing on a
sudden a powerful sense of thirst.

"I have no doubt you can do so," said the Major Domo. "Indeed, I
understand that his Majesty contemplates taking you for a sail to the
lost island of Atlantis before you return to earth."

"What?" I cried. "The lost island of Atlantis here?"

"Of course," said my guide. "Why not? It was too beautiful for earth,
so Jupiter had it transported to his own private yachting pond, and it
has been here ever since. It is marvellously beautiful."

Hardly had I recovered from my amazement over the Major Domo's
announcement when he pointed to another open door.

"The Royal Arena," he said, simply. "That is where we have our
Olympian Games. There was a football game there yesterday. Too bad you
were not there. It was the liveliest game of the season. All Hades
played the Olympian eleven for the championship of the universe. We
licked 'em four hundred to nothing; but of course we had an
exceptional team. When Hercules is in shape there isn't a man-jack in
all Hades that can withstand him. He's rush-line, centre, full-back,
half-back, and flying wedge, all rolled into one. Then the Hades chaps
made the bad mistake of sending a star team. When you have an eleven
made up of Hannibal and Julius Caesar and Alexander the Great and
Napoleon Bonaparte and the Duke of Wellington and Achilles and other
fellows like that you can't expect any team-play. Each man is thinking
about himself all the time. Hercules could walk right through 'em,
and, when they begin to pose, it's mere child's play for him. The only
chap that put up any game against us at all was Samson, and I tell
you, now that his hair's grown again, he's a demon on the gridiron.
But we divided up our force to meet that difficulty. Hercules put the
rest of our eleven on to Samson, while he took care, personally, of
all the other Hadesians. And you should have seen how he handled them!
It was beautiful, all through. He nearly got himself ruled off in the
second half. He became so excited at one time towards the end that he
mistook Pompey for the ball and kicked him through the goal-posts from
the forty-yard line. Of course, it didn't count, and Hercules
apologized so gracefully to the rest of the visitors that they
withdrew their protest and let him