Chapter 4 CHAPTER IV When it comes to the footman Fricoland, the author seeks to restore the moon's reputation

It was not the first time that the members of the Weldon Society had left the meeting after such a heated argument that their uproar could be heard in Walnut Road and the neighboring roads.Therefore, the residents in this area have more than one reason to complain about the noise and endless arguments that disturb the peace of every household.The police have intervened on more than one occasion to keep pedestrians, most of whom have no interest in aviation, passing by.And that night, the noise had reached an unprecedented level, so residents had never had more reason to complain, and police intervention had never been more necessary.

This time the members of the Welton Institute were indeed quite excusable: someone called at the door, and an equally fanatical heavier-than-air faction actually ran to the door to make irresponsible remarks to these fanatical lighter-than-air factions .But when everyone was about to give him the punishment he deserved, he disappeared without a trace. How can this be let go!It is impossible to go with impunity for this insult unless there is non-American blood in its veins.The descendants of Amerik are actually called the descendants of Kabo!How can such an insult be tolerated?Especially inexcusable: this insult, historically, hits the spot.

So members of the Welton Institute poured out onto Walnut Road, down the adjoining streets, and down the block in droves.They woke up residents and forcibly searched them.Among Anglo-Saxon descendants, the right to private life is highly respected, so they are willing to risk paying compensation for human rights violations in the future.Toss in vain.I searched and searched everywhere, but there was no trace of Robier, not a trace.Even escaping on the Weldon Society's Balloon Advance isn't that hard to find.After hours of searching, they had to give up.But before breaking up, they both vowed to expand their search to all parts of the New World, including North and South America.

Nearly eleven o'clock, the streets have basically returned to tranquility, and Philadelphia will once again enter the sweet dreamland.This enviable privilege is shared by almost every town which has had the good fortune not to become an industrial town.Members of the Society are now considering going home.The most prominent among them, William.special.Forbes is walking towards his big sugar factory which uses rags as raw materials. Miss Dole and Miss Matt have already prepared for him evening tea with glucose produced by themselves;Milner is also on his way to his factory located in the most remote suburban town, where the blower is breathing heavily day and night; the treasurer Jem, who was publicly said to have a belly a foot longer than others,Chip was back in the dining room, too, and his vegetable supper was waiting for him.

Two and only two of these eminent balloonists didn't seem to want to just go home and take advantage of the opportunity for an even more acerbic conversation.These two people are the chairman and secretary of the Welton Society, which is at odds: Uncle Prudden and Phil.Evans. The servant, Fricoland, has been waiting for his master, Uncle Pruddan, at the gate of the academy.He followed.As for what the two colleagues were arguing about, he didn't care. It is indeed a euphemism to call this joint action of the President and Secretary of the Society a conversation.In fact, they quarreled very fiercely, and the cause was of course their long-standing rivalry.

No, sir, no!Phil.Evans repeated that if I had had the honor of serving as the president of the Weldon Society, such a scandal would never have happened. And what if you were lucky enough to be the chairperson?Uncle Prudang asked. Before he could open his mouth, I interrupted the man who had insulted the whole public. It seems to me that you can only interrupt someone when he has started to speak. Not so in America, sir, not so in America! The two returned sour salutes as they walked through the streets, blocks and distances away from where they lived.To go around a big circle to get home.

Fricoland has been following behind.Seeing his master go to such a lonely place, he began to feel worried.The footman, Fricoland, did not like these places, especially now that it was midnight.Yes, the night is dark, there is only a crescent moon in the night sky, and a new round of twenty-eight consecutive working days has just begun. Fricoland looked around to see if anyone suspicious was watching them.Sure enough, he found that five or six burly men seemed to be staring at them. Fricoland instinctively approached his master.But he didn't have the guts to interrupt their conversation, for fear that they would blame him.

In any case, it was by chance that the president and secretary of the Weldon Society walked in the direction of Fairmont Park.They didn't realize where they were going. In a heated argument, they walked onto the famous big iron bridge and crossed the Shuykill River. They only met a few pedestrians returning late along the way. Finally came to an open field.This open land, with broad grass on one side and shady trees on the other, is what makes this park unique in the world. Arriving at such a place had already frightened the footman Fricoland, and now the five or six figures followed him across the bridge over the Shuikil River.His eyes are wide open, the pupils have grown to the edge of the iris, but his legs are weak, and his body is getting smaller and smaller, as if he has the unique contraction ability of molluscs and some arthropods.

The footman, Fricolin, was a coward through and through. This is a real South Carolina black, with a stupid head and a small body, just turned twenty-one.That is to say, he had never been a slave, not even from a slave family, but he was not any more promising for it.He is gluttonous, lazy, ostentatious, and surprisingly timid.He had been Uncle Prue's servant for three years, had almost been thrown out a hundred times, and had only been kept because he was afraid that another one might be worse than him.Involved in the life of a master who is always ready for adventure, he must be ready to face countless opportunities that will seriously test his mouse mettle.But there are some compensations: no one is too critical of his gluttony, nor of his laziness.well!If only you could see the future, Fricoran, the footman!

Why didn't Fricoland stay with the Sniffs in Boston and work for them?They originally planned to travel to Switzerland, but when they were about to leave, they heard that there was a landslide there, so they gave up the travel plan.Isn't this the kind of family that is most suitable for Fricoland?Where is such a bold man as Uncle Prudang! Anyway, he stayed.The master finally got used to his problems.And he wasn't bad for nothing: although he was a nigger, he didn't talk like a nigger, which was not to be underestimated, and nothing was more annoying than that hateful, inexplicable language with pronouns and infinitives.

In short, the evidence is overwhelming that Fricoland is a coward.He was as timid as the moon for sure, as the saying goes. Speaking of this, if someone wants to impose on this blond Phoibe (Note: Phoibe, Artemis in Greek mythology, the daughter of Zeus, the sister of the sun god Apollo, the moon Goddess.), the gentle Selena (Note: Selena (Selene), the sister of the sun god Helios (Helios) in Greek mythology, the moon goddess.), the pure sister of the shining Apollo made There is every reason to protest against such an insulting metaphor.What right do people have to accuse the satellite of cowardice?Since Pangu opened the world, she has been looking directly at the earth, never turning her face away. Anyway, it was almost midnight now and the pale, maligned crescent had begun to sink behind the tall park-tops.The moonlight cast some scattered spots on the ground through the branches, making it less dark under the woods. This made it easier for Fricoland to search around with his eyes. Ah!The rascals!They've been there, and they're getting closer. He could not contain himself anymore, so he approached his master and said: Master uncle. That's what he called his master, the president of the Welton Society made him do. At this moment the dispute between the two adversaries was at its height, and each side was saying to put the other aside, so Fricoland was so rudely sent aside! You stare at me, I stare at you, the more they talk about Uncle Prudang, the more they move forward.As they talked, they walked across the deserted grassland of Fairmont Park, getting farther and farther away from the Shoekill River and the iron bridge that they had to go back to the city. At this time, the three of them had come to a tall arbor forest; the last touch of moonlight remained on the treetops.The forest is a wide open space, oval in shape, and it is an excellent place for horse racing and competition: no uneven place will hinder the horse's gallop, and a clump of trees that obscures the view of the surrounding spectators on the round track for several miles. No. If Uncle Prudang and Phil.Evans was less preoccupied with their argument, and if they looked around a little more attentively, they could see that the clearing was different than usual.Could it be that a flour mill had just been built the night before?Look at the windmill with everything, those windmill wings that stand still and show their teeth and claws in the dark, who can say that it is not a flour mill! However, neither the president nor the secretary of the Weldon Society noticed this strange change in the scenery of Fairmont Park.Fricoland saw nothing either.He just felt that the few people walking around them were getting closer and closer, as if they were trying to do something bad.He was so frightened that his limbs cramped, his whole body was limp, and his hair stood on end. In short, he was extremely frightened. Although his legs were weak, he mustered up his strength and called out one last time: Uncle Master!Master uncle! Why!What's the matter with you?Uncle Prudang replied. Phil.Neither Evans nor Uncle Prudant would have objected, perhaps, to having the unfortunate servant drawn in to give him a blow to vent his anger.But they did not have time to do so, nor did the servant have time to answer. At this time, a whistle sounded in the woods, and then a star that seemed to be using electricity lit up in the middle of the clearing. Must be some kind of signal!That said, the time has come for some kind of violent action. It was too late, and then soon, six men rushed out of the woods, two rushed to Uncle Prudang, and two rushed to Phil.Evans, two pounced on the henchman Fricoland.Obviously, the last two people are redundant, because the blacks have long been powerless to fight back. Suddenly, under such a sudden attack, the president and secretary of the Weldon Society would have wanted to resist.But they have neither the time nor the strength.In a few seconds they were gagged, blindfolded, unable to shout or see, bound hand and foot, and immediately carried across the glade.They guessed: Besides those lawless gangsters who specialize in robbing latecomers in the depths of the woods, who else could they be?Yet nothing like it.Although Uncle Pruden had a habit of carrying thousands of dollars in bills with him, the men didn't even search them. The attackers didn't say a word to each other.A minute later, Uncle Prudang, Phil.Both Evans and Fricoland felt themselves being lifted and placed lightly in a place, not on the grass in a clearing, but on what appeared to be a floor.The floor creaked under the weight of their bodies.They lay there next to each other.A door closed behind them.Then the screeching of the bolt in the lock told them that they were prisoners. At this time, a sound continued to ring out, like something was vibrating, and it was ringing endlessly.On such a quiet night, nothing else could be heard but this voice. The next day, the crowd in Philadelphia was excited!Because, early in the morning, everyone knew what happened at the meeting place of the Weldon Society the night before: a mysterious figure came, a man named Robier the Conqueror!engineer; knew that he seemed to have come on purpose to trouble the balloonists; knew that he had disappeared inexplicably. And when the whole city learned that the chairman and secretary of the society also disappeared on the night of June 12-13, the whole matter was another matter. I searched all over the city and outside the city!Still nothing.Local newspapers in Philadelphia, newspapers throughout Pennsylvania, and later newspapers throughout the United States seized on the incident, each with a different explanation, but none of them was true.Numerous advertisements and posters offer large rewards, not only for those who recover respectable missing persons, but also for anyone who can provide clues to find them.Nothing came out.Even if the earth opened its mouth to swallow them up, it would not be more complete than if they just disappeared from the surface of the earth. Immediately the official papers called for a massive increase in the police force, for there was a justification for saying that such murders might also endanger America's best citizens. The newspapers of the opposition demanded that the police be sent back as trash, and that such a murder had taken place, and not even a single perpetrator could be found. Maybe they were right. In short, in the best of society, which is not perfect and cannot be perfect, the police are what they are and always will be.