Scott Sherwood and Betty Roberts strolled down Pennsylvania Avenue, surrounded by the many historical monuments and buildings of the nation's capitol, Washington, D.C. A slight snowfall drifted lazily down from the clouds, as the two figures made their way towards the Smithsonian Institution's main building. The chill November air caused their breath to be visible in the midafternoon light.
"I can't help it, Scott, I keep thinking about those scripts you promised we'd write," Betty said, worriedly.
"Like I kept telling you on the train, we'll get to them as soon as we get to the bottom of this key mystery," Scott said, determinedly. "The scripts will just have to wait. And besides, how long could this take?"
"Probably much too long, knowing you, Scott."
"Aw, come on, Betty. We'll have this solved by the end of the day, or my name isn't Scott Sherwood."
Betty stopped on the sidewalk and looked at Scott. "I have absolutely no idea how much faith to put in that declaration."
"And speaking of declarations, how about the Declaration of Independence? Don't they have that here in the Smithsonian?"
Betty started walking again, catching up with Scott. "Nice change of subject, Sherwood," she muttered, amusedly.
"I thought so, too."
"And, as a matter of fact, no, the Declaration of Independence is actually housed at the Library of Congress. But remember, we're not here to sight-see, we're here to find out about this key and this...this other thing."
"Right."
Scott and Betty continued on down Pennsylvania Avenue, turning onto 7th Street, and then finally turning onto Jefferson Drive. The duo approached the main entrance to the Institution Building. They stepped up to the box office, where an older gentleman was seated, selling tickets to those wishing to go inside. The old fellow looked up and smiled kindly at Scott and Betty. "And how are we today? Enjoying your honeymoon?"
Scott and Betty both jumped in shock. They quickly looked at one another, and just as quickly looked away.
"Um, we're just friends," Betty said hurriedly.
"Yeah," Scott added rather glumly.
"As a matter of fact, we're reporters," Betty continued, "here in town investigating a lead on a story." Scott looked at her. She shrugged, as if to say, Hey, it's close enough to the truth.
"Oh, really?" the old man said. "I like stories. Anything I can do to help?"
"As a matter of fact, there is, my good man," Scott answered, pasting his con-man smile onto his face. He looked at the old man's uniform, spotted the nametag, and went on. "Arthur...may I call you Arthur? Arthur, we've discovered something. Something big. And there's just one thing standing in our way."
"What's that?"
"This!" Scott said, rather proudly, producing the card they had found in the bottom of the wooden box. "We were wondering if you could help us with what's written on the card."
Arthur took the card from Scott, and peered closely at it. He looked back up at Scott, and said, "It says, 'Smithsonian Institution, Washington, D.C.' I think you've found us, sir."
"Well, yes, we figured that much out, Arthur. It's the rest of it we're more concerned with."
Arthur looked back at the card. "Oh, yes! These numbers and letters. Oh, I see what you mean." The old man chuckled. "For a moment there I thought you were putting me on."
Betty folded her arms. "Oh, Scott Sherwood would never do that," she said sarcastically.
Arthur continued examining the handwriting on the card. "Let's see... SW1, BW..." He continued muttering to himself, scribbling on a nearby piece of paper. After a few moments, he cried out, "A-ha!"
"What is it?" Betty asked anxiously.
"I think I've deciphered your riddle, young lady," Arthur stated proudly, handing the card back to Scott. "The numbers and letters are shorthand for our archiving system. SW1, now, that means, South-West Archive Building 1, BW stands for Brittania Wing, and..."
"Yes, yes, yes," Scott said impatiently. "So it's a location. Can you show us where?"
"Yes, sir, I can show you on the map that you get free with admission to the Institution."
Scott turned to Betty. "You see? It won't be long now." He turned back to Arthur, who hadn't moved. "Um, Arthur?"
"Yes, sir?"
"The map, Arthur?"
"What about it, sir?"
"May I see the map so you can show us where we need to go?"
"I'm afraid you'll have to purchase admission to the Institution before I can give you a map, sir."
"But the maps are free."
"Yes, sir. With admission to the Institution, sir."
Scott sighed, defeated. He dug in his pocket and handed over enough to cover two admissions to the Institution.
"Thank you, sir," Arthur said. "And here are your complimentary maps, sir, and one for you, madame." He handed them each a map. "Enjoy your day at the Institution!"
Scott opened his map and set it gently in front of Arthur. "And the location as indicated on the card?"
"What?" Arthur said, somewhat confused. Then he brightened. "Oh, yes, sir, the card! Now, where did I put my piece of paper...ah! Here it is. Yes, sir, you'll want to go...just....here!" Arthur pointed triumphantly at the very edge of one corner of the map. "That's where you're looking for."
Scott heaved a great sigh of relief. "Thank you, Arthur!"
"Come on, Scott, let's get going," Betty said, grabbing Scott's arm and pulling him along.
Arthur smiled as he watched them go, then turned his attention back to the main entrance, watching the people pass by on the street.
A few seconds later, he heard a voice from off to his left. "Um, Arthur?" Arthur turned to see Scott.
"Yes, sir, what can I do for you?"
"Um, Arthur, why did you ask us if we were enjoying our honeymoon earlier? Like the lady said, we're, um, just friends."
Arthur smiled warmly, and winked at Scott. "Oh, I've been around long enough to tell when two people belong together. You two looked the type."
Scott grinned, just as Betty rushed back, grabbed his arm, said, "Come on, Scott!" and pulled him away from Arthur.
Arthur chuckled and went back to work.
*****
After convincing one of the guards on duty at the archive building that they were indeed reporters from Pittsburgh, Scott and Betty were let into the Brittania Wing. The archives were unlike the main Institution Building, in that nothing was really on display. Most items were boxed up, in crates, or simply stacked in corners. Curiously, there was no dust anywhere. The place was very clean. "They must have a Mr. Eldridge, too," Scott said as he looked around.
Betty led him to the room that Arthur had instructed them to go to once they had gotten inside the building. It was towards the back of the building, at the end of a small, gloomy corridor. A metal door stood barring their way. Scott looked at Betty, and said, "Shall I do the honors?"
"A gentleman always holds a door open for a lady," Betty replied.
"They do, eh? Huh. Well, I'll have a go at it myself, anyway." Scott tried the handle of the door, relieved to find it was unlocked. "Well, I'd say the key's probably not for this door."
Betty entered, followed closely by Scott. Scott stopped abruptly in the entrance as he saw what was inside. The room was dimly lit, and somewhat large. But it certainly wasn't empty. Sitting in the center of the room was a strange craft of some sort. It looked vaguely like a rather ornate boat, and yet one could tell it wasn't designed for water travel. No, instead, this ship felt as though it was trapped inside the room, and yearned to be free. Free to roam...the skies, perhaps? It didn't look like an airplane. And yet...
"It's an airship," Betty declared.
Scott continued to look at the craft from the doorway. "How can you tell, Betty?"
Betty called back, "That's what it says on the display plaque over here."
Scott walked over to join Betty at what appeared to be the front of the vessel. There was indeed a display plaque, mounted on a small pedestal in front of the airship. Scott read the plaque aloud.
"'Airship "Aurora". Property of Phileas Fogg, London, England.' There, you see, Betty? Told you 'P.F.' stood for 'Phileas Fogg'." He looked back at the airship. "No balloon. Guess it got punctured or something."
Betty shook her head in wonder. "But, but that means...no, it can't possibly mean that, can it? That what Jules Verne wrote actually had some basis in fact? That Phileas Fogg, and the rest of it...it's real?"
Scott looked over at her. "Yeah, I think so, Betty. Wanna go inside?"
===================
Part Two Author's Note: The Smithsonian Institution isn't quite how I've described it. I've taken some liberties in order to facilitate my story. Dramatic (comedic?) license, you know. Hope you don't mind, cuz I don't. : - )
Where the Air is Rarified
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