A brilliant, dynamic man had been called from the East as president.

There were still many things needed--dormitories, laboratories of one kind and another, a great library; and, last but not least, a giant telescope--one that would sweep the heavens with a hitherto unparalleled receptive eye, and wring from it secrets not previously decipherable by the eye and the mind of man.
Cowperwood had always been interested in the heavens and in the giant mathematical and physical methods of interpreting them.

It so happened that the war-like planet, with its sinister aspect, was just at this time to be seen hanging in the west, a fiery red; and the easily aroused public mind was being stirred to its shallow depth by reflections and speculations regarding the famous canals of the luminary.

The mere thought of the possibility of a larger telescope than any now in existence, which might throw additional light on this evasive mystery, was exciting not only Chicago, but the whole world.
Late one afternoon Cowperwood, looking over some open fields which faced his new power-house in West Madison Street, observed the planet hanging low and lucent in the evening sky, a warm, radiant bit of orange in a sea of silver.

He paused and surveyed it.