SUMMER EDITION
1930
Scientifiction Stories Miles J. Breuer, M.D. Aladra Septama
John W. Campbell, Jr. A. Hyatt Verrill
VOL. 3 — NO. 3 ■
> Summer, 1930 ' •
Amazing Stories %
Quarterly
Experimenter Publications, Inc. I
H. K. Fly, Vice Pres, and Treas. ^ >|
CONTENTS
Prize Editorial (A Modern Father Speaks) 291
By E. R. Briscoe
Paradise & Iron (A Complete Novel of an Ultra Machine Age) 292
By Miles J. Breuer, M.D.
Illustrated by Wcsso
Monsters of the Ray (A Novelette of Archeological Interest) 364 -A
, By A. Hyatt V errill ;sA
5k Illustrated by Paul
|k The Voice of the Void (An Interplanetary Story) 390
Ij3p|k By John W. Campbell, Jr.
Illustrated by Wesso tys l- \
The Princess of Arelli (Depicting Some Jjg^
Interesting Possibilities of the Moon) 402
By Aladra Septama
Illustrated by Wesso WJn
Your Viewpoint 432
Our Cover
Illustration by Morey
I &S ~ vT^v\ E°f this issue our cover represents a ~
scene from the novel, "Paradise &
'V'-m Iron,” by Miles J. Breuer, M.D., in ”
which our hero from "outside”
;1§»k battles against the tight grasp- JESt* ’ ing tentacles of the "Squid,” as our hero aptly names
^3gfo?&yi« the ensnaring machine. M£frm£*&k
Hral
A Jo,y 20' 1930 ^ I
B. A. Mackinnon, Pres.
AMAZING STORIES QUARTERLY
290
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Editor
A Father Speaks
By E. R. Briscoe
ONCE upon a time I was a boy. Now I have boys of my own. We are friends, they and I ; but there is the gap of years between us, and often I am afraid that, in my dealings with these boys, I lead them to think I have for- gotten the time when I was a boy myself and the way a boy feels about certain things. I am care- ful at times not to let them see how much sym- pathy I have with the things they are doing and should not be doing. The problem of how to deal with them is often a hard one for me; but, I can not help feeling that it would be harder still should I completely forget my own boyhood and, eventually, lose the boy’s point of view.
Perhaps if I had not all these boys about me I should more easily forget, should think less often than I do about the different world in which boys live, feel less strongly than I do about the rights of the boys in the world, in which all of us, old and young, must live together.
When 1 was a boy I used to be rather in awe of men, particularly of men who seemed to me to have done especially notable things. I could scarcely think of some of these men as being made . of the same common clay as myself ; I could not imagine myself meeting them except with a reverent air and a deeper reverence of soul. As a man, I have not much awe or reverence left for most of my fcllow- K.V men. Meeting a man. I am likely to think of him as a measurable
measure the man and classify him, label him, and tuck him away in my thought as a considered fact. Most people, consciously or unconsciously, do the same. But I do not, I can not, so measure and classify and label a boy. With them I deal circum- spectly and on them I pass few judgments. For the boy is one of the imponderables; he is not to be pigeonholed; he is potentiality — the yet unknown thing that is to he.
Tnc man of fifty can be predicted, usually with much accuracy, from the man of forty. But who can tell what manner of man is hidden in the rowdy rascal of ten, what future of accomplish- ment, of power or of personality waits wrapped up in the gawky youth of fifteen?
All my adult life I have wondered what the neighbors really thought of George Washington when he was a boy, or of Abraham Lincoln. Probably just about wbat you think today of your prosperous neighbor’s boy. I have often wondered if the neighbors of Robert Burns saw anything essentially different in him than in any other hard- headed Scotch lad?
Take any boy, and what do wc know of him, of things he may do, of the man he may become? a Statesman, poet, prophet? How can we tell that he is not to be one of these — one of the Ttii men whom to know would be glory?
T7 i . 1 JHsH
Every child is an asset to lie value also a sacred charge to be guarded and cherished lest evil follow the unforgivable crime of A neglecting him.
J50.00 Wilt Be Paid for Every Editorial Printed Here PRIZE WINNER E. R. Briscoe Route 2 Cooper, Texas {See page 401)
The Next Issue of the Quarterly Will Be on the Newsstands October 20th
291
Laradise
CHAPTER i
€J The early models of even a brilliant invention are at best only crude affairs, often within an exceedingly short time per- fected beyond recognition. This is just as true of the airplane as it is of the automobile and the telephone and numerous other mechanical inventions that we now take quite for granted. For many years there has been much talk about building thought- machines. Even now there are calculating machines that quick- ly solve mathematical problems that would otherwise take emi- nent mathematicians and skilled computators months to solve. And constant improvements are being made on these mechanical “robot” mathematicians .
The City of
Beauty
and
ron
A New Kind of Ship
WrHY anyone so old as Daniel Breckenridge, my grandfather’s brother, should keep on working as hard as he did, was a mystery to me. He was about eighty-four; and a million little crinkles criss-crossed on the dry, parchment-like skin of his face where it was not covered by his snow-white beard. But he still went briskly about his duties as shipping manager of a great ship chandler’s establishment at Galveston.
Just now he whispered sharply to me, and drew me by the arm behind some bales of canvas in the depths of the vast shipping-room.
“Look! There he is!”
He seemed to be trembling with intense excitement as he pointed toward the great sliding doors.
There, watching the men loading up a truck with a pile of goods consigned to some ship, was an old man, just as old and snowy and crinkled, and just as firm and active as my grand-uncle himself. I looked at him blankly for a moment. He was an interesting looking old man, but I saw nothing to set me off a-tremble with excitement. But my old grand-uncle clutched my arm.
292
It is a far-fetched vision , per- haps, to think of a time when the thought-machine, which now can be worked with very little supervision, might some time get to a point where it can make suggestions for its own improve- ment— mathematically figured out improvements, of course — but it is not impossible. And if and when that happens, who can forecast the future of mechani- cal progress? In this complete, novel, Dr. Breuer gives us, in good literary style, a wealth of absorbing elaborations on the possibilities of the machine age, which makes the story one of un- usual scientific interest.
The City of
Smoke
By
Miles J. Breuer, M.D.
Author of: “ The Gostak Distims the Doshes “ The Stone Cat etc.
Illustrated by WESSO
“Old John Kaspar, the Mystery Man!” he whispered again.
That suddenly galvanized me into action. 1 took one more good look at him, and got into motion at once.
“Do you think you could hold him here somehow until I get my outfit?” I asked. “I’ll be back in ten minutes.” It was now my turn to be tense and thrilled.
“It will take them longer than that to load up the truck,” he said; “but hurry.”
I shook hands with him hastily but fervently, know- ing that I might have no further opportunity to do so,
and then dashed out after a taxi. While my taxi is rushing me off to my room, I can explain all I know about John Kaspar, the mysterious octogenarian.
Forty years ago, back in the days when the gasoline industry was just being opened up, John Kaspar was the richest man in the world. His father had been a manufacturer of automobiles in Ohio and, foreseeing the importance of gasoline, he had bought up half a county of the most promising oil lands in East Texas. Before his death, oil was found on every acre of it. The son John, the old man at whom we have just been looking, was not interested in becoming a financier; he was working out some original ideas in automobile design. There were some wildly headlined newspaper clippings in my grand-uncle’s collection, about John Kaspar’s having thrown a reporter bodily into the ash-can because the poor fellow had made his way into Kaspar’s shop and was looking too closely at some marvelous new invention on an automobile.
293
294
AMAZING STORIES QUARTERLY
Then all of a sudden, John Kaspar disappeared! One morning the world woke up to the fact that he had been gone for two or three weeks. Investigation showed that he had converted all his properties into liquid securities, and it constituted the greatest single fortune the world had ever seen. With it in his hands, this young man, not yet twenty-five years old, was more powerful than the old Kings of France. This entire fortune had vanished with him. There was a tremen- dous lot of excitement about it in the papers and maga- zines; it furnished much conversation; running about and investigating, puzzling and wonderment; alarm that he might have met with foul play, and apprehension that he might have some sinister designs on civilization.
But no trace was ever found of him.
John Kaspar’s closest friend was my grandfather, Kit Breckenridge, who has just recently died at the age of eighty-seven, having kept up his practice as a country doctor to the day of his death. The two had been roommates at college, and had been together a great deal in the years following their graduation. My grandfather, at the time, had been very much dis- tressed about his friend’s disappearance. To the day of his death he had lived in hopes that ho would hear from Kaspar again.
The world forgot about John Kaspar and his vanished fortune long before I was born. I first learned of the story something over four years ago, when I was just beginning my work in Galveston at the State University Medical School. My aged grand-uncle had pointed out the mysterious old man to me, standing by the loading- door of the shipping room at Martin & Myrtle’s.
“It’s Kaspar!” he had said in a vehement whisper. "I can swear it is I”
Then he told me the story of the millionaire inven- tor’s disappearance, back in the early years of the century.
"He first came in here several years ago,” he con- cluded. "I could take an oath that it is John Kaspar. Your grandfather and I knew him more intimately than did anyone else.”
He had studied him awhile — this was four years ago — and then shook his head.
"I wonder what has happened to him? He looks worried and sad, though he still seems to have his old iron constitution. There must be something strange
going on somewhere ” My aged relative’s voice
trailed off reminiscently. After a moment he continued:
"When he first came in here, I hurried up to him with outstretched hand, joyful to see him again. He stared coldly at me, shook his head with an apologetic smile. He insisted that he did not know me, and I could not possibly know him. He was very courteous and very apologetic, but absolutely firm in the matter. ,Why does he hide his identity?
“He has been here twice since then. I followed his loaded truck both times in a taxi when he rode away. He comes to Galveston in a black yacht, black as ink. He has our truckmen unload the goods on his deck, and the instant the last package has touched the ship, he leaves the dock, with the things piled up on the deck.
"Where does he go? Where does he come from? What can he be up to, and where? And I can’t forget that gloomy, worried look on his face.”
My grand-uncle’s account, and the sight of the wrinkled, but upright old man, with white hair and white beard, aroused my interest. And his pitiful eagerness to know more of his old friend aroused my sympathy.
I decided to go. I got together an outfit of clothes, weapons, preserved rations, first-aid kit, and money; and packed it, ready to seize and run at an instant’s notice. My two years of service in the Texas Rangers
gave me an excellent background for an adventure such as this promised to be.
I was in my Sophomore year at the Medical College at Galveston when we last saw the aged Kaspar come into the ship chandlers’ firm for his boatload of sup- plies. Then for two years my emergency outfit lay packed and ready, inspected at intervals. I had grad- uated, received my doctor’s degree, and was loafing around, resting and trying to decide what to do next.
THEN one day my grand-uncle drew me behind the bales of canvas and pointed out our visitor. I did not recognize him at once. As soon as I did, I jumped into a taxi, dashed to my room, seized my kit, which was packed in a suitcase, and hurried back. My grand-uncle stood there watching for me.
"Follow that truck 1” he said to the taxi-driver, which the latter promptly did, nearly turning me on my ear.
The truck led us to a dock at the eastern extremity of Galveston island.
The black yacht lay there right alongside the dock, just as she had been described to me. She was a trim, swift-looking craft, about a hundred feet long; but her black color gave her a sinister appearance among the bright white ships around her. And there also was the white-bearded old man walking up the gang- plank. He ascended to the somber deck, and without looking around disappeared down a hatchway.
Knowing that my time was short, I quickly paid off my taxi-driver and hurried up on the dock. Catching hold of the swinging board with my hands, I scrambled up over the edge of it and rolled down on the deck.
"Now I’m aboard the old hearse whether I’m wanted or not,” I said to myself. "If it continues the way it has started, this is going to be a lively trip.”
Then the astonishing fact came home to me that there was no one anywhere on deck. Ordinarily the deck of a Bhip leaving dock is a busy scene, with sailors scurrying about, officers giving orders, and passengers at the rail taking a last look back. This deck might as well have been a graveyard ; in fact it had somewhat that effect on me with its somber black everywhere.
A big searchlight in the bows rotated slowly on its pivot until its lens was turned squarely on me, and I caught a distorted reflection of myself in its depths; and then it turned back into its original posi- tion. It gave mo a creepy, momentary impression of a huge eye that had looked at me, stared for a moment, and then looked away again.
In a few moments the ship was slipping along at considerable Bpeed between the jetties, and Galveston was only a serrated purple skyline astern. The small machinery on deck had become quiet; and there re- mained only the deep and steady vibration of the engines. No one had as yet shown himself anywhere on board. I picked up my suitcase and walked around the deck, up one side and down the other, from bow to stern. At first I walked hesitatingly, and then, as I continued to find no one, I stepped out boldly.
IT was a queer ship. Even though my knowledge of ships was limited to what I had acquired during a few years’ residence in a seaport city, I could see that it was an uncommonly built and arranged vessel.
There was no wheel, and no steersman 1 The usual site of the wheel and binnacle was occupied by a cabin with some instruments in it; nor could I find any- where any signs of anything resembling steering-gear. How was the ship piloted? Who was watching the course? There wasn’t a lookout to be seen anywhere! Yet the ship had picked a tortuous course from its dock down the harbor and between the jetties.
PARADISE AND IRON
295
A big, wide hatch in the waist led to the engine- room, if I might judge from; the hot, oily smelling draft and the hum of machinery that came up through it. So I explored down there and looked the engines over. They were huge, heavy things, apparently of the Diesel type, but with a good deal of complicated apparatus on them that I had never seen on any Diesel engine and of which I could not guess the purpose. Every moment I expected to see a greasy engineer come around a corner or from behind a motor. My curiosity overcame my hesitation, and I gathered up the courage to search all the niches and corners down there, but found no one. Was I to conclude that the engines were running themselves, without care?
The fore-hatch apparently led into the hold, whose gloomy depths were piled with bales and boxes. Obvi- ously, there was no forecastle. No quarters for a crew! Well, all the crew I had seen so far would not require much space for quarters. The captain’s cabin was where it belonged, but there was no one in it; only tables covered with apparatus. Gradually my exploration of the ship changed into a frantic search for some human being.
When I paused in my search, it was dusk. The ship was tearing along through the water at an unusual speed. From the high bow-wave and the churning wake, I would have guessed it at thirty knots. Galveston was but a faint glow on the horizon astern.
There was one place that I had not yet searched, and that was the cabin just ahead of the middle of tho vessel. This was the space usually reserved for passengers on ships of this size. Down there it was that the mysterious old Kaspar had gone. Unless I was to conclude that he was the only living soul aboard, that is where the officers and crew must be. If all the officers and men were shut up together in the passen- gers’ cabin, even a landlubber like myself was com- pelled to pronounce it a Btrange proceeding.
I opened the hatchway and looked down. My flash- light showed several steps leading to a passageway several feet below. There were three doors on each side and one at the end; and the latter had a line of yellow light under it coming through a crack. That is where Kaspar was at any rate! I went down quickly, threw open one of the doors, and pointed a flashlight into the room. It was empty. The others were the same. I knocked loudly on the door at the end of the passage.
A chair scraped on the floor and the door swung swiftly open. There stood the strange old man, erect as a warrior, but pale with surprise.
“For God’s sake, man!" he gasped. “What do you want here? How did you get here. You unfortunate man !’’
He clasped his hands together nervously. For the first time it occurred to me that I probably looked dirty and dishevelled, from my scramble up the gangplank.
“For the love of Pete!” I exclaimed. “Who is run- ning this ship?”
“If you only knew,” the old man said in a melan- choly voice, peering at me closely, “the powers that control this ship, you would implore me to take you back. But I am afraid I cannot take you back. I have some influence, but not enough to do that."
“But I’m not asking you to take me back,” I pro- tested. “Don’t worry yourself about that end of it.”
‘You must go back before it is too late.”
His voice quivered with earnestness.
“Your only hope,” he continued, “lies in meeting some ship and putting you across on a boat.”
“I’m not going back,” I said shortly. “It was hard enough to get here the first time.”
He studied me another moment in silence, and then
stepped backwards into the room, motioning me in. I looked about eagerly, but my theories fell helpless. He certainly was not controlling the ship from this room. It had four bare walls, ceiling, and floor; a porthole, a bunk, and a washstand. A traveling bag stood in a corner; a few Galveston newspapers were piled on the bunk. That is all!
“Who are you?” he said patiently.
I related to him briefly who I was and why I had come.
“Then you’re not a newspaper reporter nor an oil or copper prospector?” He regarded me eagerly.
I merely laughed in reply, for I could see that he was now convinced.
“But that does not alter the danger for you,” he went on earnestly. “If we do not get you on a ship before it is too late, you \vill never see Galveston again.” “Sounds bad!” I remarked, not very seriously im- pressed. “Tell me about it. What will happen to me?” He sat and thought a while.
“If it were possible to tell you in a few words,” he said abstractedly, “I should do so.”
He looked out of the porthole awhile, lost in thought. I studied his profile. Certainly the tall forehead and prominent occiput denoted brain power. Through the circular window I could see the waves rushing back- wards between the ship and the rising moon. He finally turned to me again.
“So Kit Breckenridge is dead?” he said softly. “And Dan wanted you to come and find out about me? Good old Dan.”
“My great-uncle Dan was very much puzzled as to why you denied your identity to him.”
“It hurt me to do that. I was hungry for a talk with him. Can’t you imagine how I should like to ask him about people and places? But how can I ever talk to my old friends again? I’ve often thought of trying it. But there would be endless complications.” “I’ll respect your secret, sir!” I argued eagerly. “And I shall behave myself on your island, and keep out of trouble.”
“No!” he exclaimed. His voice was troubled, and there was a pained look in his kind old face. “I cannot permit you to go to an almost certain doom.” “I’ve gone to ’em before,” I said cheerfully, "and my skin is still all here. I’ve been in the Texas Rang- ers, and can take care of myself.”
He shook his head. He had been straight and tall when he marched up the gangplank. Now he was bent, and looked very old.
“Now you have seen me and talked with me,” he finally said. "You can be content to go back and tell Dan Breckenridge and your father that you have seen me, and that I am well and happy.”
“Mr. Kaspar,” I said, striving to conceal the im- patience and excitement in my tones; “wouldn’t I look foolish coming back with a story like that? They know that much already. Besides: you may be well, but you don’t look happy to me. You’re under some shadow or in some difficulty. I shouldn’t be surprised if I could find some way of helping you.”
“You cannot!” he groaned. “You are lost! I know the courage of youth. I am glad that it still exists in the world. But that will not avail you. It is not danger from men that you need fear. There are forces far more subtle and more terrible than you can imagine.” There was such an expression of worried anxiety on his face, and he seemed so genuinely concerned for me, that I regretted to be the cause of such distress. He sighed as I shook my head in reply to his last protest.
“I don’t mind admitting to you,” I added, “that if I were really anxious to go back to Galveston, waiting to meet a ship would not be my way of doing it. You
296
AMAZING STORIES QUARTERLY
must indeed have been lost to the world for forty years if it does not occur to you that I might call an air- plane by radio to take me back.”
‘‘Well, I’ll have to find you a bed then, as it is getting on into the night,” he said resignedly, and beckoned to me to follow him. He led the way down the passage and opened one of the doors. As I entered with my suit- case, he bade me good-night.
1 FOUND myself in a small cabin with the usual furniture, a bunk, a chair, a washstand. The bunk was made up with a blanket, and I hopped into it at once, taking only the precaution to take with me to bed my service pistol, a Colt .45 automatic. The ship was quiet; the hum and vibration of the machinery were not disturbing; there was only the splashing of the water outside my room. For a long time I could not go to sleep. It was hot, and I was a little seasick.
I tossed around and pondered. The swift, lifeless ship terrified me, now that I was alone in the dark.
Finally the motion of the ship rocked me into a sound sleep. I awoke suddenly and at first was sur- prised to find the sun shining on me through a round window, and myself fully, though untidily dressed.
Then, recollecting myself, I jumped out of my bunk, extracted a toilet kit from my suitcase, and washed and shaved. I replaced my white collar and creased trousers with a flannel shirt, whipcord breeches and a pair of heavy, laced boots. I put the big service pistol back into the suitcase, but slipped a little .25 caliber automatic into my pocket.
By the time I got myself into shape, I was hungry, and went in search of food. I stole softly to the old man’s door, and listened. Sounds of deep breathing indicated that he must still be asleep; my search would have to be made alone. Again I hunted thoroughly through the entire ship, the deck and its structures, the hold, the engineroom, and several cabins like the one in which I had slept. There was no dining room and no galley, and not a sign of food. Of course, if there were no people on the ship, it was quite logical that there should be no food.
For a moment, the after deck engaged my attention and made me forget my hunger. The space ordinarily occupied by officers’ quarters was filled by masses of apparatus. Through the windows and doors I could see great stacks of delicate and complicated mechanism, such as I had never dreamed of before in connection with a ship. There were clicking relays and fluttering vanes and delicate gears; little lights would go on and off, little levers would jerk, here and there, in twos and threes and dozens, and then all would be silent and motionless for an instant.
Before I had regarded it very long, hunger drove me to a further search of the ship. Everything was clean and orderly. A peculiarity of the black paint on everything struck me ; it had the appearance of the japanning or enameling that is usually found on metal machine parts ; it was more like the finish on an auto- mobile than like the paint job on a ship; it gave the suggestion of being machine-processed, perhaps by air brush. And all over the ship there were various bits of mechanical activity: here water running from a hose; there a rotating anemometer; yonder a pump sliding and clicking back and forth. It looked for all the world as though an efficient and well disciplined erew had left but a moment ago.
The venerable old man appeared about eleven o’clock. “I must ask your pardon for having kept you hungry so long. It is a long, long time since I have entertained guests, and I forgot. I could not go to sleep till nearly morning, and now I have overslept. Come, you must be hungry; though I have not much to give you.”
He led the way to his cabin. I looked It over again carefully, thinking that perhaps on the previous evening, during the excitement of the conversation, I might have overlooked the mechanism by which he controlled the ship from his cabin. But there was nothing there.
THE most surprising thing about it all is for me to think back now, and realize how far even my imaginative and astonishing explanation fell short of the actual truth.
He opened the suitcase and set out some preserved fruit, meat, and bread for me; and a bottle of carbo- nated fruity beverage. In the absence of other evi- dence, the few little jars of food that he had were eloquent enough testimony that he was the only man on the ship besides myself.
When we came out on deck again, it was nearly noon. Kaspar put his hand on my shoulder.
"Last night I urged you to go back," he began. “I was tired after a strenuous day, and I allowed you to dissuade me from my purpose. Here is your oppor- tunity. We can signal the ship over there, to take you."
“I'm not going back,” I said calmly. ‘‘I know it is rude of me to force myself on you, and I apologize; but ”
‘‘My dear boy, that is foolish. You know that my only concern is for your own welfare. Personally, I like your company. You remind me of my young days in Texas. For other reasons, that you could never guess, I should like to take you along. But, for your
own good, your career, your friends and loved ones ”
“You speak as though this were my funeral," I in- terrupted.
“It is certain that you will never get back. Knowing what I know — not even many of my own island people know it — I can see clearly that you, of all people, will be in serious danger upon the island.”
“Why can’t I come back to Galveston with you on your next trip?” I urged.
“Who knows where you or I shall be by that time? I may never live to -take another; and you — inside of a week, a young fellow of your type would be a marked man on the island.”
"What is the danger?”
“I am not even sure myself. I only know that many brave and brilliant people have disappeared forever. Your world needs you; it needs brains, courage, and skill, and you seem well gifted with all of these. Our island does not need these qualities.”
His argument did not sound convincing to me; it looked too fantastic to be real. For that matter, has anyone ever been convinced by spoken warnings of a vague danger? Has any old man’s warning ever stopped a young man’s headlong rush?
"Listen!” I exclaimed. "You have said that you do not mind my company personally. I am therefore going to stick to you.”
"But, Davy 1 I cannot have it on my conscience that I was the cause of you — the cause of a horrible end for you. I am troubled enough about the others, for
whose doom I do feel responsible. Come ■”
On the previous night, all alone in my bunk in the darkness, I had felt some misgivings and some fear. Even an hour before, what with solitude and hunger, I might have taken advantage of an opportunity to flee. But this old man’s face and bearing showed that he was carrying some heavy burden of trouble. A first glance showed that there was wisdom, intelligence and ingenuity there; and the most careful scrutiny could show naught but kindness, benevolence, and sympathy. The mere sight of his face strengthened my resolve to see this adventure through.
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Kaspar sighed, as though he were glad that he had done his part and that it had come out this way.
“You’re a good boy,” he said. It sounded very af- fectionate and quite old-fashioned. Then, after a few moments’ silence:
“You do not have a wife and children at home?”
"Nobody!” I shook my head vigorously at the strange sound of it.
“I suppose it is all right,” he murmured, mostly to himself ; "One person more or less on the island — what does it matter?”
We met no more ships, though several times we saw Bmoke in the distance. A number of times we sighted land; now high and rocky, and again flat and sandy with tropical vegetation. From the direction in which we went and the tremendous speed that the boat was making, I concluded that we would soon be in the Carib- bean Sea. After I had given up hope of making the old man talk, I sat and watched him staring out over the water. No question about it: he was totally obliviouB of any responsibility for navigating the ship.
Toward six o’clock in the evening of the strangest day I ever spent, I saw a light blue line of haze, straight over the bows. This grew darker and more solid as the minutes went by ; slowly it broadened and darkened and spread out on both sides of us. So great was the speed of the ship, that it was still twilight when we drew close enough for me to see a row of pinkish granite cliffs in front of us, extending as far as I could see on either side, with a haze of black smoke high in the sky behind them. A volcano? I wondered. The tropical night was closing swiftly down as the ship tore through the water at unabated speed.
Nervously I stood on the deck and searched for some sign of a harbor or a landing-place. Every moment I expected the ship to swerve to one side or another. I began to get worried — for the ship plunged straight on toward the wall of cliffs.
CHATTER II An Island and a Girl
AS the darkness rapidly gathered, three searchlights in the bows blazed out, lighting up the rocky wall ahead into an intense relief of brightly lighted cliffs and inky black shadows. Straight ahead of us there was a cleft in the rocks, an irregularly vertical band of Stygian blackness, extending from the water up as high as the rays of our searchlight fell. Then, I suddenly grasped the remarkable fact that though the breakers roared on both sides of us, we were in com- paratively quiet water; and on ahead was a quiet strip extending right into the darkness of the fissure in the rocks, whereas on either side of it were the foamy white rollers beating against the rocks.
There was, in fact, a huge cleft in the granite struc- ture of the island — for I assumed that it was an island — extending down below the level of the water as well as upwards; and as the rocky bottom sloped away from the shore, this cleft furnished a safe and excellent chan- nel through a dangerous area. In another moment we had slipped into the depths of the gorge.
It occurred to me that to a watcher from out on the sea, it would have seemed that our ship had disappeared suddenly, as though it had been swallowed up. The ap- pearance of the island to anyone approaching as we had done, was bleak, desert, and inhospitable, the last place in the world to invite a landing. And now we were slipping down a secret passage, and were quite hidden from the outside. The whole procedure had the appear- ance of having been cleverly arranged to conceal what- ever the island contained. My temples throbbed with excited anticipation.
Kaspar stood erect and motionless, just forward of the deckhouse, gazing ahead. I judged from his atti- tude that he was expecting to land soon ; so I ran down into the cabin and brought up my suitcase and found as I did so, that my hands and knees were shaky from the sudden and severe strain on my nerves of the previous quarter of an hour. The sudden fright and equally, sudden relief left me weak and perspiring.
The luminous rift of the sky above us began to widen; within twenty minutes, the tops of the rocky, walls at the sides were low enough to be visible in the illumination of the searchlights; and the channel had widened considerably. The noise had sensibly dimin- ished, and the speed of the ship continued to decrease. Soon the walls became irregular, interrupted by black clefts, then gradually dwindled down to scattered piles of rock. Now there was a beach, white and smooth, no doubt sand : on the left, level to the dim, dark horizon with a glow of the sea in the distance ; on the right the narrow strip of bright beach shone in strong contrast with a dense, black wall, which I knew must be a forest
On ahead, a number of lights glowed brightly, from which long, glimmering streaks of reflection reached toward us. Lights meant people! Kaspar’s people! In the course of a number of minutes, 1 was able to make out a row of brilliant lamps on poles, at the edge of a little wharf built out into the water. I scanned it eagerly with my field-glasses. I could make out a good deal of machinery on the shore, cranes and loading ap- paratus, and dark, irregular bulks, with wheels and cables. There was also a little group of people on the dock.
I was young and impressionable enough to have got- ten a thrill out of even a conventional visit to any foreign port. Imagine then, how I quivered, after my strange day on the mysterious ship, to find myself about to land on an island which was evidently off the established paths of travel, and which already was be- ginning to promise unusual and mysterious features.
While the ship was slowing down and slowly easing over toward the dock, I had about fifteen minutes in which to study the scene carefully. Only with the corner of my eye did I observe how two steel hoops dropped from the ship over posts on the dock, fastened to chains which spun out from the ship and then reeled back in, drawing the ship to within six or eight feet of the dock; and how the gangplank descended. I looked further on.
The wharf was of wooden planks, and but a little longer than the ship ; evidently built for this ship only, and without facilities for permanent docking. On my left, a couple of heavy trucks were backed up toward the ship, with derricks on them, which immediately swung their hooks and cables up over the ship when the latter approached. On the shore, beyond the plank- ing of the wharf were several other big vehicles in mo- tion, backing into position in a row; and one emerging from the darkness beyond the limit of the lights and cutting across the lighted space. Among the big ma- chines were scattered some very small ones ; they were indefinite black blotches, and I could make out neither their structure nor their use; they merely gave the im- pression of being intensely active. A roar and a clatter rose from the mass of machinery; and there was a con- fusion of huge movement and black shadows.
Not a building of any kind was in sight anywhere. A hundred yards ahead, the intense blackness against the more luminous sky, with occasional flashes of re- flection, must have been a forest. To the left, more cliffs towered in the distance.
All of the machinery was opposite the left half of the ship. A line formed by continuing the gangplank straight out from the ship, divided the illuminated ter-
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ritory in half, and the left half was a dense, roaring, iron bedlam ; God knows what it was all about. There, at the edge nearest me, stood a towering, clumsy thing on caterpillar treads; behind it were humpbacked tractors and things with whirling wheels and gesticu- lating cranes.
The right half of the dock was clear and empty, ex- cept for the little group of people. On beyond them a few automobiles stood beside the road that led backward into the darkness. The people, a tiny, huddled group, looked quite incidental and subsidiary to the huge, rumbling machines.
THERE were about a dozen of the people, both men and women, young and old. One swift glance in the brilliant illumination told me that, and showed me that they were neatly and carefully dressed in elegant, rich- looking clothes. As we drew closer 1 saw at the front of the group a pretty, dark-haired girl and at her side a stately old lady with snow-white hair. Both had their heads bent backward in their effort to peer eagerly up- ward at the ship’s deck. Then the gangplank thumped down on the dock, and Kaspar walked down without the least change in his measured tread. I picked up my suitcase and followed him ; I must confess that it was a little timidly and at some distance.
I remained in the background, leaning against a lamp- post at the edge of the dock; the shadow of the lamp’s base kept me in comparative obscurity. I hoped to avoid attracting undue attention to myself, at least until all the regular greetings were over. Kaspar and the ma- jestic old lady came toward each other; first they clasped hands and leaned toward each other in a brief kiss; and then they stood for a few seconds looking into each other’s eyes, hands clasped and not a word spoken. Thereupon there was a swirl of dresses and scarfs; Kaspar had a pair of little arms around his nock and a resounding kiss planted on his cheek; and then the im- petuous young lady held him off at arms’ length and gurgled: “Old granddaddy’s back!”
"By Jove!” I thought to myself. “I like her looks and I like her ways 1”
Kaspar looked around for me, I suppose wishing to introduce me. But the others in the group were too quick for him. They crowded around him and shook hands and greeted him joyfully. It was evident that he was a beloved man. I could understand but little of what was said, because the clatter of the machinery was too loud at the point where I stood ; but the expres- sions on their faces, clearly lighted by the lamp over my head, spoke louder than words. There was a burly, red- haired man, who might have been a building-contractor or a sea-captain dressed up in society clothes, who seized Kaspar’s hand with the grab of a gorilla, and whose Irish features registered such joy and relief that Kas- par's return might have meant the alleviation of all his troubles and the lightening of all his burdens. There was a slip of a young lady in a gorgeous fiuffy-ruffly cloud of a dress with a marvelous head of red hair; and she approached Kaspar a little timidly and in awe, but smiled radiantly and seemed genuinely happy to see him back safe. And a young man in full evening dress of the most elegant cut and material, with perfect shirt- front and most delicately adjusted tie, approached in great respect and with the utmost perfection of social grace; but he too was happy to see Kaspar.
“Boy!” I gasped under my breath, looking at him from the top of his silk hat to the tips of his polished pumps; "to think that I came here in whipcords and laced boots, with pistols and a camp-cooking kit!” Kaspar glanced back at me once or twice, as though apprehensive of having neglected me; but I nodded back that it was all right as far as I was concerned;
and he continued to receive greetings while I watched him, giving an occasional glance at the machinery un- loading the vessel. The five people whom I have already mentioned seemed to be especially close to Kaspar, for they remained at his side. They were talking ani- matedly together, and occasionally their voices were carried to me.
In fact, I noted that the mechanical din was lessening somewhat. Every now and then some vehicle would sweep around and disappear in the darkness, up the road. Unloading had stopped, and I surmised that only a few personal packages had been taken off, and that the ship would soon go to some more permanent berth.
As I was watching the last crane-load swing from the deck into a truck, a most creepy looking mechanical nightmare came sputtering by with a noise like a motorcycle. It dashed by so quickly that I had no chance to observe it closely. It looked like a huge motorcycle, seven feet high, with a great, box-like body between the wheels, in which the driver must have been enclosed ; and around this box were coiled many turns of black, oily-looking rope. The box was black and looked like a coffin stood on end, and rope was wound in a great coil about its upper end; and two glaring searchlights surmounted it. I don’t see how anyone could imagine a more inconsistent, unnatural-looking thing.
The people talking in front of me were startled by its appearance; that was obvious. Their heads went close together, and I could see the burly Irishman slowly shaking his great red shock of hair, for all the world as though he were worried about something again. Finally Kaspar turned and motioned to me.
I came forward a few steps and approached the group. First I was presented to the white-haired old lady, who regarded me wonderingly, but spoke nothing, beyond telling me, with a manner of stately politeness, that she was pleased to make my acquaintance. In the meantime the bright-eyed girl behind her kept watching me in- tently, except when I was looking directly at her.
“Davy Breckenridge got aboard with me in search of adventure," Kaspar said, by way of explaining my presence ; “and I could not frighten him off.”
Next I found myself facing the girl. The light be- hind me shone directly on her; and with an opportunity to get a good look at her I found my original interest sustained and increased. In fact, I had already wasted more extra heart-beats on her than I ever had on a girl before, and I had not even exchanged a word with her. Her wide-open eyes and parted lips betrayed the cu- riosity and wonderment that I must have aroused in her. She seemed to be between twenty and twenty- five, and came up with an active, springy step. In con- trast to the other brilliant and flouncy young lady, she wore a dress of some plain, gray-brown stuff that might have been gaberdine, open at the throat, and with a skirt somewhat longer than were being worn back home just now. I could see that she was enjoying it all immensely, for her face broke out into a glowing smile as Kaspar spoke:
“Mildred, I have brought a young visitor with me, Davy Breckenridge. Davy, my granddaughter, Mildred Kaspar!”
He bowed and stepped back, with the courtly, old- fashioned way of letting the two who have been intro- duced occupy the center of the stage, so to speak. Un- certain as to whether an introduction in this society included the shaking of hands, I watched, but when Miss Kaspar extended hers, I took it, nothing loath.
SUDDENLY and unexpectedly, a black shadow raced between us and there was a clank over our heads. Kaspar started, looked up, and involuntarily continued
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"Look out!” ehe tried. "It’s com- ing again I”
stepping back. I also looked up. A big, black crane am was reaching over toward ua from the caterpillar- treaded hulk a score of feet away. It hung high in the air, and its chain and bucket, a half ton of dirty iron just off the ground, was plunging directly at us.
There was a little scream from one of the ladies be- hind Kaspar, and a united scramble to get out of the thing’s way. I was not in its path, I soon noted; its awing would just miss me. But Miss Kaspar, in front of me, was directly in its path; in another second it would knock her over and grind her up. For a mere in- stant I was paralyzed with surprise. In a moment I recollected myself, but the plunging mass was already within two feet of Miss Kaspar.
There was only one thing to do. I took a good grip on the little hand and jerked her swiftly toward me, and at the same time stepped, or rather leaped back- wards. I got a momentary glimpse of the look of amazement on her face as she was carried off her bal- ance, but I was compelled to look behind me to keep from stepping off backwards into the water. How- ever, I was able to guide myself to the lamp-post and back up against it; and I caught the staggering girl into my arms, for otherwise her momentum might have carried her on off the edge of the dock. It was a de- licious armful; but I had no time just then to enjoy the thrill of my first experience in that line. I hastily let go and stood her on her feet, and looked for the swing- ing shovel.
There was six feet of space to spare between us and the line of its swing. Kaspar and the three people with him stood on the opposite side of its path, motionless as though they had been suddenly petrified ; and there was a straggling line of people back toward the cars, also petrified. Miss Kaspar was looking at me with a puz- zled expression on her face, but my gaze at the swing-
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ing bucket made her turn. It reached the end of its swing in a few seconds, and was coming back.
It came toward us now with a creak, over our heads, and its path was further toward the water — nearer to us. The pair of huge iron jaws was open and turned toward us; and it was coming fast.
“I wonder what’s the idea?” I grumbled. “Has the fellow gone suddenly crazy?"
I had been trying to figure out, in swift flashes of thought that seemed to hang slowly in fractions of a second, whether the operator of the machine was trying to reach the pile of freight on our left, or whether he had lost control of the machine, or had parted with his wits. When Miss Kasper saw it coming, she turned toward me with a little scream.
It came on with gathering momentum, while I was trying to figure out a way of dodging it without jump- ing into the water. There was no use trying to run ahead of it or to get across its path; it was moving faster than we could move. A dozen feet away were Kaspar and his people, open-mouthed, paralyzed with fear, but unable to stir to help us. I had almost made up my mind that it would have to be a plunge into the water, when I got another idea.
Without a word — there was no time for it — I seized Miss Kaspar around the waist and lifted her off her feet; I remember making a mighty effort and then being surprised at how light she felt. With my left arm around the lamp-post, I swung her and myself out over the water, bracing my feet against the edge of the dock. The bucket swung by with a rush of oily-smell- ing air. I breathed a sigh of relief and was about to swing her back to her feet, when she plucked at my shoulder and cried:
“Look out! It’s coming again!”
It had stopped with a clank and was swinging swiftly back. By this time the girl had begun to get heavy, and my left arm around the post, which carried the weight of both of us, was beginning to ache. She noted my efforts to ease the strain and tried to reach past me to get hold of the post.
“You can’t do that,” I said, ‘‘but it will help if you hang on to my neck.”
She did so at once, without hesitation. I wonder that I did not lose my head and drop off into the water from sheer excitement.
I was revived suddenly by a hot pain in my left arm and the sound of my sleeve tearing. The bucket had swung by again and grazed my arm. Its next swing would bring it outside the line of lamp-posts and brush us off into the water. I felt a keen appreciation for the feelings of the bound man in Poe's "Pit and the Pendu- lum” story.
“It’s a ducking for us,” I said. “Can you swim?”
She laughed.
“I’m at home in the water,” she replied.
“Down we go then 1”
I stopped so that she could slide down and then lent her a hand to lower her into the water; when I heard her splash I started down myself. However, the big, black shovel was so close to my head that I got frightened and let go, and fell several feet into the water. I went under for a considerable distance, but came up readily and saw Miss Kaspar clinging to a pile. I reached for my hat, which was floating near. We were between the dock and the ship, and could see nothing but the glare of the lamp above us with the blackness of the dock on one side and the hull of the ship on the other, also black as Erebus. The gangplank was directly overhead.
“This is worse than a trap!” I exclaimed. “We’ve got to get out of here quick!”
I watched her anxiously until I saw her strike out
easily and gracefully, apparently but little impeded by her clothes. By a natural impulse we headed toward the stern of the ship, away from the machinery. In a couple of dozen strokes we were clear of the wharf and the ship, and out in open water.
“Now, where do we go from here?" I asked, as we paused to look back. She turned around to look at me, and laughed. There was just enough light from the distant lamps so that I could see the water trickling down over her face from little wisps of hair. She was positively bewitching; the light gleamed brightly from the row of pearly teeth, and her eyes sparkled in fun. At that moment I did not know the cause of her laugh- ter, for I was puffing hard keeping myself afloat in my heavy clothing. Later I learned that it was my tend- ency to lapse into the latest metropolitan idiom that had furnished the amusement.
“We are safe now,” she said. “Fifty yards to our left is the beach, with only a few rocks between us and the folks.”
As we swam for the shore I kept my eyes on the dock; but the machine that had caused the trouble, and its crane, were not visible to me. I was thoroughly winded when we arrived at the beach, for my clothes and accoutrements were indeed a heavy load to keep on top of the water. Miss Kaspar stopped at some dis- tance from the shore, with only her head and shoulders out of the water.
“Now you go on ahead,” she ordered, with what seemed to me an overdone sternness; “and keep to your left. I shall follow you.”
“What a queer code of ethics I” I exclaimed. “It’s up to the hero to see that the rescued lady is safely out of the water before he gets out.”
“If you don’t go on, we’ll be here all night. And if you dare to look back, I’ll never speak to you again!” This time there was a note in her voice that sounded as though there might be tears near at hand.
“Oh what a mutt!" I groaned at myself. To her I shouted :
"All right! I’ll learn after a while. It’s only the first hundred years that I’m slow.” Another peal of laughter behind me testified that all was well again.
THE black shadows among the rocks made the way a little treacherous; but it was not long before I came suddenly out of them and to the edge of the dock. Kaspar and his three companions were at the edge of the dock where we had jumped off, looking in- tently down at the water; six or eight others were moving slowly back from the cars toward the water. The big, ugly machine was gone; in fact only four loaded trucks were left of the mob of machinery that had been there only a short while before. The people spoke not a word. Their rigid attitudes, their white faces and tight lips alarmed me. The big, red-headed man had his fists clenched; and in a moment he began pacing back and forth on the dock. Kaspar stood with his head bowed, looking completely crushed.
My appearance with Miss Kaspar behind me was like a thunderbolt among them. She gave them a silvery little hail. Kaspar clutched out with both hands, and his eyes stared wide open out of the snowy expanse of his beard. Mrs. Kaspar held out her arms; it seemed that it was to me, but there was a swish behind me and a Bhower of water and Mrs. Kaspar was holding a wriggling, wet bundle. It was hard to tell from which one of them the squeals of joy came.
The big Irishman stopped in his tracks and stared with open mouth ; and the elegantly dressed young man, though struggling manfully to preserve his dignity, was showing his agitation by rubbing the back of one hand in the curved palm of the other. There was a
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kind of astonishment about them, as though we had risen from the dead. Only the freckle-faced young lady with the sunset hair seemed to exhibit joy unalloyed, by dancing up and down and sidewise. Kaspar laid his hand on his granddaughter’s shoulder, but the em- brace of the two women showed no signs of loosening. He finally turned to me and held out his hand :
“Davy, now that you have saved our baby from that awful thing, nothing can come between us.”
His voice trembled, and the hand that I held trembled.
“I can’t see that I did much,” I answered with em- barrassment. "That was a commonplace little acci- dent." Although in my mind, I was wondering if it really was an accident and commonplace.
In the meanwhile, wraps and scarfs had been requi- sitioned among the crowd and the two ladies had hustled Miss Kaspar away. Kaspar roused himself and again moved with that almost military air of his.
“Here are two more friends I want you to meet, Davy. This is Mr. Cassidy.”
, The big, red-headed man grabbed my hand with a powerful sweep. He must have been very much moved, to let a little brogue slip away from him; for never again after that did I hear him use it.
“Ye’rr a foine bhoy, an’ quick an’ brave.” he said, from the uttermost depths of his throat. “Never in my life have I been so sick as during those few moments when our little one was in danger.”
“Thank you. I don’t think I’ve done anything."
Then came Mr. Kendall Ames, turning his head back to look after Miss Kaspar as he approached me. He seemed hardly able to pull his eyes off her. The perfection of his manner and the faultlessness of his attire combined into one harmonious effect, that hushed my usual tendency to facetiousness and commanded my unadulterated admiration. Such a product on a tropi- cal island.
Though I could detect no flaw in his perfect speech and behavior, except possibly a slight pallor and the slightest of tremors, still it seemed that he was just a little constrained and embarrassed.
“When I express to you my gratitude for your wonderful act,” he said softly, in a well modulated voice, “I am merely voicing what hundreds of others will feel. You have saved our most popular lady from a terrible fate.”
“I am sure that you exaggerate,” was all that I was able to get out of myself.
But they were not exaggerating. Some real emotion possessed all of these people. There was something be- neath the surface here. If this occurrence with the machine had been merely accident, why were they all so tense about it?
However, I did not have much time to speculate about it just then. The day had been hot; but the night was cold, and I began to shiver in my soaked clothes, and my teeth chattered. Also Kaspar discovered that my left arm was bloody. I had been holding it behind my back, until he took it and examined it. The sting of the salt water in it was making me writhe. He raised it to the light in grave concern.
“It isn’t much,” I said. “Just the skin scraped off. If you can find me something dry to wrap up in so that I won’t shiver my joints loose, I’ll have this arm dressed in a jiffy.”
The three of them watched me with great interest as I opened my suitcase, took a bandage from the first-aid kit, and did a fair job of dressing with one hand.
"Bad omen!” I laughed. “The first thing I use out of my outfit is the first-aid kit.”
In a moment I wished I had not said it, for over Kaspar’s face came that same brooding, gloomy look that he had worn most of the afternoon on the ship.
Some robes were produced for me to put over my shoulders, apparently taken from automobiles. I was to ride in Ames’ car, as Kaspar’s would only hold the three of them, while Mr. Cassidy had already left with his daughter.
“That’s the red-headed girl, I’ll bet!" I thought to myself.
Ames was very eager, and conaueted me to the car as though I had been a royal guest. I felt like the hero of a movie drama. There in the car was another young man, dressed with the same splendor as was Ames; and there followed another formal introduction.
I can laugh now, but I could not then. It was all quite grave and earnest: I, soggy, bedraggled, with a bandaged arm and a blanket over my shoulders like a Choctaw chief, and feeling tremendously clumsy and out of place in all this drawing-room courtesy; and bowing to me, extending his hand, and gushing forth great volumes of gratitude was Mr. Dubois in evening dress and with manner so perfect that he would have been a model for the evening crowd at the Ritz cafk
The car had no steering wheel, and no one drove! Ames tinkered around with something on the instrument board when he got in ; and in a few moments we were off.
We seemed to be running through flat, open country, over a paved road. My recollection of the early pnrt of the ride was that it had been through dense blackness with rushing echoes about — a forest, no doubt. Now, moment after moment, more lights became visible, until there were great masses and long avenues of them.
CHAPTER III The “City of Beauty”
WHAT city is that?” I asked eagerly, forgetting my wet clothes and the cold wind. Both of the men seemed surprised at the question.
“Why — that is — our city!” Ames protested in the tone of a person making a superfluous explanation, “where we live.”
“I mean, its name?” I persisted.
“Its name?” Ames seemed puzzled. “Why do you ask for a name? Walter, have you ever heard its name?"
Mr. Dubois shook his head in courteous silence. “What island is this, then?” I asked.
“I’m afraid I do not know its ‘name’ either," Ames x-eplied. He was apologetic and anxious to oblige, but helpless. “You see, we never had occasion to speak of it in such a way as to require a name."
“ Where is it then?” I demanded, growing more sur- prised every moment.
“Where ?” he seemed totally at a loss.
“Which way and how far from Galveston? Or where in relation to Cuba or Central America?”
"I’m sorry,” said Ames, in a queer, embarrassed tone. “I know nothing of those places. We are all so occupied
with pursuits of our own that we are not interested in
what you speak of. It would serve no good purpose to go into those matters.”
“You are a stranger,” volunteered Dubois. “We’ve never had a stranger here before. It isn’t considered the — ah — proper — ah — taste, you know, to show an in- terest outside the island.”
His reply, which gave me the impression of having been spoken in the fear that someone would overhear it and make trouble for him if it wasn’t properly made, silenced me for a while. They had been so cordial and sincere, until I had begun to ask questions, that I had at first gotten an impression of a high degree of culture and intelligence; and now this sudden seizure of embarrassed constraint, along with the strange limita-
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tion of their mental horizon, gave me a vague impres- eion of mental abnormality.
Soon we were driving up a broad, paved street, lighted by rows of electric lights; and illuminated windows were visible among a wealth of black trees. Being driven about a strange city at night is always confusing. I had impressions of meeting numerous headlights and dark vehicles; there were people fitfully revealed for a moment by moving lights, and glimpses of people upon verandas among trees. For a couple of miles there was block after block of the same thing. Finally we drove up to the curb behind another car, from which the Kaspars were alighting. Kaspar led me through an arched hedge, across a shadowy front- yard garden, into the house. The young men drove away, courteously wishing me good night, and prom- ising to see me tomorrow.
The house astonished me. Instead of having traveled nearly a thousand miles across the Gulf of Mexico, I might merely have walked over into one of the better residence sections of Galveston or any other American city. The house was of glazed face-brick; there were mahogany furniture, electrio-light fixtures, a phonograph, velvet rug, a piano. On a small drawing- room table were several books and a newspaper opened across them.
In the middle of the big living-room stood Miss Kaspar covered from head to foot with a cloak; about her head was a scarf through which showed wet spots.
Yes, she was beautiful. During my drive, I had recol- lected the thrilling feel of the slim body in my arms, and I feared lest my quick glance in the garish lighting of the dock had left too much to my imagination. But the tempered illumination of the room showed me the soft cheeks delicately colored with a bloom that the sea-water had not affected, the brightest of brown eyes, and the red lips that arched in a smile of welcome. As my gaze swept eagerly over her, the smile faltered, and a flush came and went. But she threw her head back with a little toss, and the smile came back, radiant as a summer sunrise, and the brown eyes looked into mine.
“I couldn’t let them shoo me off to bed until I had thanked you for saving me from that horrid thing, and welcomed you to our home," she said in a soft, Southern voice, extending her hand to me.
She spoke no other words, but the smile was given so generously, and the eyes met mine so frankly, that I was quite taken off my feet. By the time I had re- tovered sufficiently to stutter an acknowledgment her grandmother had hurried her away.
"Horrid thing!” she had said, as though there had really been some serious danger. Obviously she was taking the incident very seriously.
"You had better go to bed too,” Kaspar said to me. "After your ducking and your cold ride, you need to be careful. I must hurry to a conference with some people who are anxious to see me. Here is your room. In the morning, you will probably be up early and want to look about outdoors. Yonder is the way out to the veranda, and we shall meet you there.”
I looked after the departing old man in an agony of curiosity. Would I not have the opportunity of asking a single question?
A mahogany bed, high with soft, white bedding, a chiffonier, in the corner a lavatory with hot and cold water, two brilliant landscape paintings on the wall — such was the place in which I would spend my first night on a savage and tropical island. This was the rough life for which I had prepared myself with sleep- ing-bag and pistols! I was reluctant to accept the realization that I was in a city that was unknown to the world and not down on the maps and in the travel books.
However, no other conclusion was possible, for the cities of this region, excepting those of the American zone on the isthmus, were dreary, miserable places, not worthy of the name of city.
1 AWOKE to see the sun shining brilliantly on a thick mass of foliage outside my window. The air that came in was cool and pleasant. As I began to move about, my arm felt sore and stiff, and was caked with dried blood. However, I dressed it afresh, and got out my razor and shaved. Ruefully I surveyed my silk shirt and cream-colored trousers; they were hopelessly unfit to appear in. There was nothing to do but to put on the laced-boots, flannel shirt, and whipcords, stiff with dried sea-salt. I knew I should feel uncomfortable and conspicuous in them among the dress-coats and delicate frocks, but no more so on account of my clothes, than on account of a sort of inferior feeling in the presence of their pretty manners and culture.
"Breakfast!” said a small placard, hung from a push- button over a small, mahogany table. I was hungry enough, and the button’s invitation to be pushed was ir- resistible. I pressed it, whereupon a panel opened in the wall, from which proceeded the sound of whirring gears ; and in two or three minutes a tray appeared, on which were eggs, bacon, coffee, and rolls. It traveled toward me on a canvas belt over a revolving roller. I made short work of the food, for I was overpowered by eagerness to get outdoors and see the town by daylight.
Then I eagerly made my way out on the porch and looked around. I saw a broad, paved street, lined with great masses and billows of luxuriant tropical foliage into which the houses were sunk almost out of sight; here and there a fawn-colored wall, a red-tiled roof, or a row of gleaming windows peeped out of the dense verdure. Again it struck me that it might be the wealthy residence portion of any city in the south of the United States. Had the black ship gone in a circle and brought me back to Florida or Louisiana? No, that was im- possible, for I had watched the course too intently dur- ing the previous day, and it had always continued southeast. Undoubtedly I was on some unknown island in the tropics; for nowhere in the United States would people talk and act so queerly as these people did.
It was a rich and beautiful picture. Palms, ferns, and conifers seemed to predominate among the flora; thick, dark-green, waxy leaves and light, lacy fronds were plentiful. There Were great, cream-colored flowers shaped like a jack-in-the-pulpit, as big as my head; big, scarlet hoods and spikes; white, buttercup- like flowers as big as my two hands, with purple centers.
I got out on the concrete sidewalk and started up the Btreet on a little walk. However, before I had gone a hundred yards, I thought of the unusual appearance that my salt-crusted, rough-looking clothes presented in such an elegant residence section, and my timidity drove me back toward Kaspar’s house. Just before I reached it, nt the gate of the neighboring house, there was a flutter of white, and there stood the freckle-faced, Titian-haired young lady of yesterday evening.
"Ooooh!” she exclaimed. "Good morning! You sur- prised me!”
"Good morning,” I replied, trying to be as courtly as I had seen Ames and Dubois act, but feeling silly at it "You are Miss Cassidy?”
"I am Phyllis — Phyllis Cassidy. How is Mildred?” she looked toward the house.
"I haven’t seen her this morning, but she looked all right to me last night.”
I chuckled to myself at having unconsciously stated what I so warmly felt; for Miss Kaspar certainly had looked all right to me the night before.
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"Come, I’ll go over with you. That was perfectly grand of you to save her!’’ she gurgled ecstatically. “I’ve read about brave things like that and seen them on the stage — but to think that I should ever see it real — and to talk to a man who dared to do such a thing!”
She drew a deep breath of delight.
“And everyone was terribly frightened that awful things would happen.”
“You have a beautiful city here,” I interrupted, for I was getting embarrassed. “What is its name?”
“Its name!” Her flow of words stopped in surprise. “The name of the city? I do not know if it has a name. Sometimes we say: ‘The City of Beauty’.”
“And what island is this?”
“What island? You want a name for the island too? You queer man. Why should it have a name? It’s just ‘the Island.’ It is very large, and I’ve never seen all of it and shouldn’t want to see all of it. There are woods and mountains and ugly black and oily places ”
“Where is this island?” It may have been rude to interrupt, but otherwise no progress was possible. I could see that she had vast possibilities as a rapid-fire conversationalist.
"Where? Why here! Where could it be? — But father warned me that you might talk like this, and so I’m not shocked. You are a stranger. We do not dis- cuss things about the island. It is not nice. There are so many other things. I’ve just had a big tapestry hung at the Artist’s Annual; you know tapestry design is my serious work. That made my father very proud. And see this little medal? That is the swimming honor for the Magnolia District, and this is the second year that I’ve held it ”
About there I sank in the deluge of words; but she prattled on. Finally, I figured out something with which to interrupt again, wondering, however, how long she could keep it up if she were not interrupted.
“You have some rather amazing machinery here,” I remarked. “I should like to see more of it.”
Her delighted expression faded instantly, and she shuddei-ed.
"Machines are disgusting things,” she said, curling up her little freckled nose. “We do not talk about them. But I’m not shocked at you. Daddy told me not to be, because you do not understand the island. Just think how lucky you are, coming today. This afternoon is the Hopo championship ride. I am so excited about it, because I know Kendall Ames will win it.”
A rapt expression came into her face, and she clapped her transparent white hands childishly.
“You’re going, aren’t you?” she asked eagerly.
We turned into Kaspar’s gate, and there on the porch was Miss Kaspar. And at once I lost interest in Phyl- lis and Hopo, whatever that was.
“I suppose,” I replied mechanically, my eyes on the figure of Miss Kaspar standing on the porch.
“Oh, you must!” She put her hand on my sleeve and started off on another long flood of talk. My con- ception of courtesy compelled me to stand there listen- ing, with her hand on my arm, and groan inwardly while Miss Kaspar turned and walked into the house, disappearing from my sight without a word to me. If it all looked as I felt, it must have been a ridiculous picture. I wished Phyllis at the bottom of the sea. Her childish prattle had kept me from seeing Miss Kaspar again. She followed Miss Kaspar into the house, and I wandered disconsolately about the yard. I thought that it was very strange that Miss Kaspar had not spoken to me ; in fact she had acted as though she had not seen me at all.
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I SPENT most of the forenoon wandering about the yard and through the house. I wondered what had become of everyone, and why I had been thus left to my own resources. I found the house a mixture of the commonplace and the marvelous. Familiar, ordi- nary furniture, such as I have already mentioned, con- trasted with the automatic cooking going on in the kitchen by means of timing-clocks and thermostats and without human attention. The “house-cleaning” de- vice was especially interesting to me.
I was attracted to the drawing-room by a humming noise; it came from a black enameled affair like an electric motor, just beneath the ceiling. It was moving slowly about the ceiling, dragging something through the room after it; and as I watched I noted that it was covering the room systematically by means of a sort of “traveling-crane” arrangement. The things hanging from the motor were light hoses with expanded endings, and the surprising thing about them was that they moved and curled about this way and that, like an elephant’s trunk or a cat’s tail. They reached here and there, poked into corners, under chairs, and around objects; and I could hear the sound of the suction as their vacuum cleaned up the dust. When the room had all been cleaned, the apparatus receded into an opening in the wall, and hid out of sight.
"If this is the way they keep house,” I thought, “I can understand how they can raise such flowers as Phyllis for tapestry design and swimming champion- ships.”
It was nearly noon when Ames appeared, clad in a gorgeous scarlet jockey uniform, with shiny boots and golden spurs, and in his arms a great bouquet of flowers. I was in a distant corner of the lawn, and watched him as he stood bowing to Miss Kaspar, who appeared in response to his knock.
“I trust that my fair lady of Magnolia Manor is en- joying good health,” he said with pompous graciousness. “I am on my way to the Hopo field, and if you will ac- cept this token from me and wear one of the flowers, I know it will bring me victory.”
I could not hear her reply, but I could see that she thanked him formally. Then Ames saw me and came over to me.
“If you have no afternoon suit with you,” he said looking me over, “you are welcome to one of mine. You and I are of about a size. I'll send one over.”
I had to admit that it was considerate of him to think of it. But I felt resentful because I had to ac- cept a favor from him; for what was I to judge from what I had seen, except that there must be some inti- mate relationship between him and Miss Kaspar?
“Lunch is ready!” Miss Kaspar called to me in a voice that sounded coldly polite; and she did not seem to notice me as I came in.
No one waited on the table at luncheon, at which the four of us sat. Everything was on the table when we sat down, and we left the things there when we were through ; and the next time I glanced at the table they were gone, removed, doubtless, by some mechanism. I had already seen enough to be convinced that the servant problem did not exist on the island. The only servants were machines.
"Ha! ha!” laughed Miss Kaspar, but would not meet my eyes. “I see that you have spent a pleasant morn- ing. Phyllis is a jolly little girl, isn’t she?”
I was taken aback. Where was the Miss Kaspar who had given me her hand the evening before? She looked just as lovely as ever ; but she had no eyes for me at all, and that engaging cordiality and frankness that had impressed me far more than her beauty were gone. But then, who was I, to expect to be noticed by her,
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when Ames had brought her a bale of flowers as big as herself? My sphere had always been action and not women ; a horse on the range, or something doing in a laboratory were familiar to me; but with women I was clumsy and incompetent. The present reminder of that fact was the most unpleasant one I had ever had. Ames seemed to be the real hero among the ladies; and Miss Kaspar was obviously the fortunate lady.
Just then there was a click and a rush of air at one side of the room. A panel snapped open and a pack- age dropped out ; and the panel clapped loudly shut again.
“Clothes for you from Kendall Ames,” Kaspar an- nounced. “I imagine this is something new to you. Ames puts them into a tube at his home; they go to a central distributing station which sends them here.”
I went resignedly into my room to put on the clothes. The interest seemed to have been taken out of things for me. But I intended to go with them to their Hopo, or whatever it was; at least I should have an oppor- tunity to see more of the people of the island. When I came out again, there were several young people on the porch, and more of them in a large car at the curb. They were ready to go to the scene of the sport, and had come to take Miss Kaspar with them.
They were interesting folks. The young men wore dark coats and light trousers, and were very courtly in speech and manner, quite in contrast with the direct and forward manners of the youth that I had been ac- customed to. The girls wore light, fluffy dresses in pale shades of blue, orange, yellow, and pink; and they were full of smiles and curtsies and little feminine ways that charmed me very much. I confess I preferred them to the blunt and callow ways of our modern girls.
Amazement surged up in me again. Here I had set out for a tropical island, expecting to find jungle and savagery; at most some squalid mixture of Indian and Iberian. Yet, here was a freshness and delicacy of human culture, a flower of human beauty, a develop- ment of the fine things in human looks and manners, of which I had never seen the like in the most favored urban circumstances that I had ever known.
THE young people sat for a moment and chatted trivialities; while some who had remained in the car played on a guitar-like instrument and sang. Their voices were well trained and their playing was clear and soft. They seemed in every way clean and beauti- ful young people ; and with the deep-green lined street, the bright houses and brilliant flowers, it all seemed rather like a dream of beauty.
'Til get out Sappho for your first,” Miss Kaspar cried to her grandfather; and the affectionate glow that lighted up her sunny face, as she glanced at him, caused a pang within me for being left out of things. I had to remind myself that last night’s rescue did not necessarily give me any special rights nor privi- leges ; and that I ought to be thankful for the kindness that had been bestowed upon me last night. She hur- ried out of the back door; and “Sappho” turned out to be a greenish-black roadster, with wheels four feet high, an extraordinarily large radiator appropriate to hot climates, headlights set in the top of the hood — and no steering wheel! The machine fascinated me so that I stood about it curiously instead of mixing with the group of young people.
In fact, I was a little nettled at the people. They seemed to take no particular nor unusual interest in me. Upon introduction they were very gracious; but they immediately took me for granted as one of them. No one asked me where I came from, nor what my country was like, nor how I liked it here. Like a group of frolicking children, they seemed intent on the
interests of the moment, and accepted everything as it came. So, I decided to ride with Kaspar in his Sappho.
I waited for some minutes for Kaspar to appear. Then I walked all around the curious vehicle, and I finally decided to get into the car and wait there for Kaspar. So I climbed in and sat down, with a queer feel- ing at the complete absence of the steering wheel and gear-shift levers. However, on the dashboard were a great many dials; and something was ticking quietly somewhere inside the machine.
Then there was a “clickety-click” and a whirr of the motor, and the car moved gently away from the curb. It swerved out into the street, gathered speed, and then turned to the right around a corner. It slowed down for two women crossing the street, and avoided a truck coming toward us. It gave me an eerie feeling to sit in the thing and have it carry me around auto- matically.
Then it suddenly dawned on me, that here I was alone in the thing, on an unknown street, in an unknown city, racing along at too high a speed to jump out, and rapidly getting farther away from places with which I was familiar. How could the machine be controlled? Already I was completely lost in the city. How and why had the thing started? I had been exceptionally careful not to touch anything, and was sure that no act of mine had set it off. But I was rather proud that I did not lose my head; I leaned back to think. This was not my first emergency.
The car was carrying me rapidly through a beau- tiful residence section of the city. I could not help looking about me. It was a veritable Garden of Eden, and all the more beautiful for the added touch of hu- man art. The lawns were smooth and soft, with half- disclosed statuary among the shrubbery, or fountains at the end of vistas. Homes spread over the ground or soared into the air like realized dreams, without regard to expense or material limitations. But, every few minutes my mind came back with a jerk to my own anomalous position.
I examined the dials on the instrument-board closely. There were ten of them, and they had knobs like the dials on a safe-door, or like the tuning dials on a radio receiving set. Some of them had letters around the periphery and others had figures. I looked for something that said “stop” or “start", but there was nothing of the sort, nor even any words of any kind. There were a number of meters, but a speedometer was the only one whose use I recognized. The whole proposition looked about as impossible to me as a Chinese puzzle.
The more I thought about it, the more I thought that my only hope was to try manipulating the dials. That was the only way to learn something about manag- ing the car. I did so: I twirled a knob at random and waited expectantly. Nothing happened. At least, not immediately. After a few moments, however, the car stopped, turned around, and started off in the op- posite direction. I should have gotten out of it while it stood still for an instant; but for the moment my curiosity was whetted, and I wanted to try the dials again to see what would happen. Anyway, before I recollected myself, the car was speeding in the op- posite direction at too rapid a rate to permit my getting off.
If I had hoped to get back to Kaspar’s this way, I was disappointed at the first corner, where the ear turned to the right, drove around a block and was soon spinning along in its original direction.
“You’re a stubborn jade, Sappho,” I grumbled aloud. “We’ll have to see what we can do with you.”
I now perceived where I had made my mistake: I had not noted which dial I had turned nor how I had
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turned it, when I had reversed the car, and I was unable to repeat the movement. So, the next time, I carefully turned the first dial to the letter "A”. There was no effect at all. I moved the second dial to “A”. A curious fluty whistling followed; it proceeded from the hood, and varied up and down several octaves of the musical scale, with a remote resemblance to rhythm and melody. Before it died down, I sank back and gave up. A little reflection showed me that with ten dials and twenty-five letters or figures to a dial, there were several million combinations. It was hopeless.
FOR a moment the scenery distracted me again. I was bowling along comfortably, and did not seem in any particular danger.
The buildings I was passing seemed to have grown in response to a creative artistic impulse just as lux- uriantly and as untrammeled as the dense tropical vegetation among which they stood. Dream palaces they seemed, with colonnades and sweeping arches and marble carvings gleaming in the sun.
Such a city could be possible only by means of vast wealth, highly advanced culture, and unlimited leisure on the part of the inhabitants. Where did the wealth come from? I could not see any place where any busi- ness was being transacted nor any industry going on, although my ride covered every section of the city that afternoon. I did pass through a small and quiet shop- ping district; but here there was no display, and its purpose was evidently not that of selling and making money, but rather that of supplying needs and desires.
Gradually an uncomfortable feeling began to got the best of me. In vain my reason told me that there was no real danger, and that I was having a good time. I felt hopelessly at the mercy of the machine, and I did not like it. I began to yield to an unreasoning panic; it made me think of how my hunting-dog had behaved the first time I had tried to give him a ride in an automobile.
But my common sense and practical experience kept insisting that automatic machinery was not always de- pendable. The thing might spill me somewhere and break my neck. It might carry me to some distant part of the island, and then run out of fuel so that I would be unable to get back. The thought of being lost in some wild, unknown place began to make me desperate. Last night’s episode at the dock made me suspect that all was not smooth on this island; that there may be people somewhere who were unfriendly toward this highly cultured community, to which Kaspar belonged. Suppose the machine should carry me in among them?
A medley of the most unpleasant grinding and rasp- ing noises came out of the machinery. I could have imagined that it was gnashing its teeth at me. It in- creased its speed to a terrific rate, until the wind stung my face, and a sinking feeling came into my stomach, whether from fear or from the motion, I do not know. Then it quickly fell back into the ordinary speed again. My next effort caused a sudden stop that threw me into the windshield. I saw stars and things went black for a moment; and then I was traveling along again at thirty miles an hour. I tried it over a dozen times, producing hurried turns around the block, noises, jerks and skids, with numerous dangerous perform- ances; but never again was I able to make it stop.
I was soon worked up into a state in which I would have been willing to risk everything in order to get back to Kaspar’s home. I was frantic to get out of the thing. Yet, I could not quite make up my mind to jump. The recollection of some fractured skulls from similar attempts that I remembered attending at the John Sealy Hospital deterred me. The pavement looked too hard. I spent an hour in a state of anxiety.
I had almost made up my mind to try jumping and take my chance, when I noticed that the car was headed out of the city. First we went through a park — a beau- tiful landscaped place, with flowering trees and shrubs whose like I had never seen before, lagoons crossed by graceful bridges and covered with gay boats and bordered with frolicking bathers, with smooth lawns on which were in progress games that looked as though they might be golf, tennis, baseball — and there ahead was a gateway. The paved road beyond led between open fields.
My fears were being realized ! I was being carried too far away to suit my better judgment. And, as if in response to my resolve to jump as soon as there was soft ground at the side, the car speeded up to a good forty-five miles an hour.
During the few moments that it took me to get up my courage, the car made a couple of miles along a lone- some road. Far behind, another car came out of the gateway and down the road after me. In all directions, flat fields stretched away. To the right, half a mile away, flowed a broad river. The fields might have borne cotton or potatoes; I was going too fast to discern which. Here and there, large, trestle-like machines were bridged across the rows of plants and seemed to be working at cultivation, though I could make out no people on them. On ahead was a stream flowing at right angles to the road, and toward the river on the right. It may have been a large creek artificially straightened, or a canal, for its banks were straight and regular, and the quiet, swiftly flowing water seemed to be quite deep. The road crossed it on a concrete bridge.
Ah ! There was my chance. The bridge railing was only a wheelguard, not over two feet high. A jump into the water was my best opportunity for an escape from this scrape.
“Now Sappho, you demon, we’ll see!” I gloated, and climbed out on the running board. There I waited till I was just opposite the nearer bank of flowing water. It would require a horizontal jump of six feet to clear the rail, which was easy for me.
I jumped. I was not able to manage a dive. It knocked the breath out of me, and for a moment I was dazed and helpless. My body tore through the water sidewise and whirled round and round, as though the quiet stream had suddenly become a whirlpool. I thought my head and lun_:s would burst before I fought my way to the top and gasped for breath. I located the bank and struck out for it. I could feel my clothes rip and tear in a dozen places, as by brute strength I overcame their obstruction to my strokes. I rolled out on the bank and lay there panting.
Up on the road, two men were getting out of a car, obviously the one I had seen behind me. They came toward me. I stood up and got ready for them; I was ready for anything human. One of them looked a particularly bad customer ; but I was only thankful that I was on solid ground and away from any kind of a machine.
Then, with a gasp of relief, I saw that they were Kaspar and Cassidy. And on ahead Btood Sappho, drawn up quietly by the side of the road.
"Good jump, boy!” shouted Cassidy. “No one in this town would have dared it."
He laughed, but his laugh was forced, and his face was pale and drawn. Kaspar grasped my hand and said nothing.
“I’d like to know what in blazes is going on!” I de- manded impatiently.
“You’ve had a particularly narrow escape from some sort of oblivion that we don’t even understand our- selves,” Kaspar said; “and that is about all I am able to tell you."
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Kaspar beckoned to me to get into Sappho with him, which I did with some trepidation. Kaspar managed the car smoothly back into the city. He was silent; not a word did he say; and when I tried to speak, he turned warning looks toward me, so that I desisted, though vastly puzzled. However, I kept a sharp eye on hia hands as he worked the dials to start the machine, and stored my observations for future use.
As we came into the city, the afternoon was turning into evening, and the streets were crowded with people. As we pushed on through, we saw a big parade going by. Automobile-floats decorated with flowers went up the street in a long line, some of them very beautiful indeed. Then came a truck with a floral throne on which sat a man and a woman, crowned and hung with wreaths of flowers. As they went by, great roars of applause went up and banners were displayed contain- ing a maroon field and a white magnolia flower.
“It seems that Ames has won the championship,” re- marked Kaspar, and his remark lacked enthusiasm.
Indeed, it was Ames and Miss Kaspar on the floral throne !
Why did it cause me a pang of depression to see them? What I had done last night for Miss Kaspar was a small matter. And even if it had been a big matter it would have given me no claim on her, no excuse to presume on her regard.
I was wet, shivering, and physically miserable, with clothes hanging off me in rags. It was difficult to get through the crowded streets in the increasing darkness, though I must admit that the performance of the car in finding its way without human guidance impressed me as remarkable. It was pitch dark when we reached Kaspar’s house, and he slipped me into my room un- observed.
“Say nothing about this to anyone,” he admonished. “Also, let me warn you very earnestly, to stay absolutely away from machinery unless one of us is with you. You are too important to us now to have something happen to you. And — think this over : do not interpret literally everything you see. Be patient. The time will come when you shall understand all of these things.”
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CHAPTER IV Athens or Utopia?
THE following day, about the middle of the fore- noon, Ames came sauntering over to the Kaspar home.
“Now that you are one of us,” he said to me, as cas- ually as though I had merely moved over from another part of town, “you must get started going about with us in our activities.” He leaned against a pillar of the veranda, powerful and graceful in his white ducks, a magnificent specimen of young manhood.
"It is very kind of you to receive a stranger so cordially into your midst,” I replied, trying to speak in a tone of gratitude that I was far from feeling.
It Beemed that these people was assuming that I was going to stay among them forever; and perhaps they were right. How I could ever get away I hadn’t the least idea. Ames’ presence was uncongenial to me any- way, because he had a previous claim on Miss Kaspar.
There she sat on the settee .with her grandfather, avoiding my eyes, which of course made me look at her all the more often. Her long, downcast lashes, her straight nose and clear-cut mouth made her look like a royal princess. A wave of resentment surged over me for having to accept favors at the hand of a man who had found this girl before I did. But I strove to over- come it. There was nothing to do, however, but to be- have courteously, and try to fit in with their manners and habits— and to keep my eyes open.
“We’re arranging something good for you this after- noon," Ames continued; “something in which you can take part. What ;can you do — tennis, Hopo, polo, golf 7”
“I hardly know one from another,” I replied. “I’ve had to work all my life. But, if there’s nothing else to do here, I can learn. Or, why can't you folks go ahead and play, and let me watch?”
“We oouldn’t do that!” Ames exclaimed, as though leaving me out would be an unthinkable sin against hospitality. “Besides, today is a special occasion. Per- haps you can swim, then?”
“Well, yes,” I replied with interest; “that is the one thing I can do. No one has beaten me across the Gal- veston channel yet, and my challenge is still open.”
I stopped suddenly, embarrassed at having referred *o my own country, and hoping no one had noticed it.
"Very good,” Ames said with gratification; “with swimming we can arrange a pretty little event. You will enjoy it.” He seemed happy in having found some- thing in which I could participate. Phyllis became quite excited over it; her eyes sparkled and her breath came rapidly.
“I’ll explain it,” Ames continued politely. "Tomorrow night is the annual ball of the Arts Guild, a splendid affair with a grand march and quadrille. The grand march is always led by the winner of the Painting Prize, who this year is a lady, Janet Keen. Therefore, she chooses six ladies of honor from among her friends; and it is a pretty little custom to choose the gentlemen escorts for these ladies of honor by some athletic con- test. This afternoon we shall make it a swimming competition, and you shall have the chance of winning one of the ladies of honor.”
He spoke earnestly and enthusiastically, with perfect seriousness. I worked hard to suppress a smile. Phyllis was so intensely stirred that she got up to join us, skipping and clapping her hands. To me, the event outlined by Ames looked childish, a device of the idle rich to secure diversion. These people looked mature and intelligent enough to be doing something worth while. But, I suppose it was human. During the days
of chivalry, grown-up, bearded men discussed the relative beauty of their fair ladies by pounding each other’s armor with axes and lances, and rode about the country looking for damsels to rescue from dragons, when they should have been working at some useful job.
“And we’ll have a picnic luncheon in the park!” Phyllis cried. “We can meet at the Paneikoneon. That means that I shall have to hurry 1”
She darted into the house, and I could hear her call- ing over the telephone. I gathered that there was a definite little group, which was a sort of society unit holding together for its activities; and that Phyllis was calling this group together.
“Meet at the what?" I asked of Ames.
"The Paneikoneon is the building of all the arts. To- morrow night’s party and today’s fun is for people who are chiefly artistic, and it is natural to meet there.”
“You ought to look through the place,” Kaspar sug- gested to me; "You will find it interesting, perhaps even astonishing.”
"Why, yes!” exclaimed Miss Kaspar. “You mustn’t miss seeing the Paneikoneon. You will be delighted at the pictures.”
“I don’t think you’ve ever seen anything like it any- where, no matter where you’ve been," Kaspar said. “There are thousands of paintings and Btatues. You will catch your breath when you see the art that this island has developed within two generations.”
"I am eager to Bee it,” I admitted. "The art of a people reveals their nature and character more truly than their history.”
The remarkable people of this island interested me immensely ; and if their art told as much about them, as did ancient Greek sculpture or medieval painting about the people who produced the statues or paintings, what revelations were in store for me today?
It was rather a surprise to come in contact with art in this city. I had rather expected to go about looking at amazing automatic machinery. Or, I had expected to have the lazy leisure to cultivate the society of the brown-eyed vivacious granddaughter of my host. Why could I not get her out of my head? Ah! The idea struck me suddenly. Was Miss Kaspar also one of the "ladies of honor”? And could I compete for her society by swimming against the others? That was an excit- ing thought! I had no doubt that I could easily walk away from them in the race, for I had clearly proved to an entire city, that I was a remarkable swimmer. But perhaps as an engaged girl she would not be free to receive the attentions of anyone who might win the opportunity by physical prowess. All I could do was to wait and see. I looked at her again. She was talking to Phyllis, and the glint of the sun on her cheek through a wisp of brown hair sent an excited thrill through my every nerve. I developed a sudden and keen interest in the afternoon program.
THEN I looked at myself. Again I was in a coarse shirt and whipcord breeches, wrinkled and crusted with salt; one sleeve was torn and had dried blood- stains on it. The suit that Ames had so kindly loaned me the day before was now a bunch of rags, completely ruined by my leap into the water. That would have been embarrassing enough had the suit been my own property, but the fact that it wasn’t, made matters worse. I took Ames aside.
( “I was in a little accident yesterday,” I explained, “and the suit you so kindly loaned me is a total wreck. I am sorry ; and if you will give me some idea as to the cost of the clothes I shall reimburse you for them.” He stood still and looked at me for some moments with a puzzled expression.
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“The damage to the clothes is an accident, and you are under no obligation to me on account of it." He looked at me and smiled pleasantly, and continued:
“You seem to be in about the same position that you were in at this time yesterday morning. I’ll get you another suit of mine, until you can have some made for yourself.” He departed toward the telephone, while Kaspar smiled at my bewilderment.
“Kendall is quite right,” Kaspar came to my relief. “All he has really done for you was to go to the trouble of wrapping and sending the clothes.”
“You mean that they cost nothing?”
“Cost? We do not use that word. He can get all he wants, and so can everyone else. There is plenty on the island, and all are jvelcome to it.” Kaspar said it proudly.
A light had suddenly dawned upon me. I had been having a queer impression of frailty and helplessness in the actions and appearance of these people. Like a baby in arms, was the vague idea I had. Now I saw! They never had to work. They were never driven by necessity, never haunted by the shadow of want. They only played. They had no conception of danger, priva- tion, and pressure. They were petted and pampered children.
And that was how Miss Kaspar differed from the others ! Her face showed grave lines of thoughtfulness and trouble, beneath and between the sunny smiles. And then, to think that she was dedicated to a human ornament like Ames! Even yet, I felt like sailing in and showing him who was a better man with a lady. But, when I thought of the courtesy and hospitality that had been shown me, I hesitated. Under such cir- cumstances, it would be humanly inexcusable.
“Why does that make you look so woefully serious?" Miss Kaspar laughed, waking me out of my reverie.
“Oh, does it?” I fenced, playing for time to frame an answer. My heart gave a leap, for I was glad to be noticed by her. “Perhaps I wish that my own country were such a paradise. I have always been taught that only through toil do we gain strength and make progress; and that without work, a people is lost."
“We’re not lost," laughed Miss Kaspar. “There is plenty to do.”
“Yes, to pass the time,” I admitted. “But I cannot imagine one of these flossy young men making a living —or one of these girls cooking a meal or sewing a dress.”
Miss Kaspar laughed heartily ; I wondered if it wasn't merely to hide some deeper reflections of her own.
“Don’t you like girls that cannot cook and sew?" she asked slyly.
“I confess that I am curious to know who is going to prepare the picnic lunch,” was my reply to that.
“Oh yes!” she exclaimed, in sudden recollection. “Your talk has been so interesting that I nearly forgot. We must plan the luncheon, and then we can have it sent to the park. Come, Phyllis.”
“There will not be time enough to send it,” Ames re- minded. “We’ll have to stop by the central kitchens and get it.”
“And I’ll go along,” thought I to myself. “I want to see these automatic cooking machines.”
Miss Kaspar and Phyllis had their heads bent over a printed card and were marking it with pencils. I went into the house, and finding that my clothes had arrived from Ames’ home, went into my rooms to change. I was excited at the prospect of having a good look at some of the marvelous automatic machinery which was doing all of the work of the city and yet managing to remain behind the scenes and out of sight. And their talk of a great Paneikoneon full of pictures was hard for me to grasp. How could a small, unknown island
have produced a school of art and enough paintings to make such a huge collection, at the same time that they had developed thi3 vast system of machinery ? In fact, they seemed to be more interested in the social-athletic event of the afternoon than in anything else in life. And at the thought of that, my heart pounded again. Was there really a chance of winning Miss Kaspar, even for a formal dance? If I did, would she talk to me? She was certainly leaving me out in the cold now, while Ames acted as though he had a first mortgage on her.
When I came out I found that Dubois and his sister had arrived and were waiting for me with Phyllis and Ames in the latter's car. We drove a number of blocks through streets alive with traffic and brightly clad people, and stopped in front of a large building done in massive Egyptian style.
“Here’s where we stop for the lunches,” Ames an- nounced.
I FOLLOWED the two men through the massive en- trance into a small room furnished like a drawing- room. Ames had the printed card that the girls had checked, and proceeded to pick off the items, moving little switch-levers, of which there were hundreds on one of the walls, each with a printed legend beneath. I watched him a moment, and then slipped through a door down the corridor, and wandered around in the vast halls full of machinery.
The astonishing, unbelievable thing about it all was that there were no workmen there. All these vast stacks of machinery worked busily away, entirely alone and without human attention. I soon came to where Ames’ orders were being filled, if I may put it that way. A number of metal cases about the size and shape of Gladstone bags were traveling along on a belt, and packages were being lowered into them. I found a place where there were great kettles and much steam and the most savory of odors ; and another where fruits were being put into cans by automatic machines. Little packets were being wrapped and cartons filled — I had seen similar things in packing houses and food factories back home. These machines did not look radically different; but the amazing things worked all alone, without human attendants.
The two men, with whom I came, did not like my prowling about among the machinery, and everybody was more cheerful when we drove away. Soon they were prattling merrily away like a group of children, of Ames’ victory of the day before and of Miss Janet Keen’s prize painting. First one and then another would turn to me and tell me something about the build- ing of pictures, anticipating my delight on seeing them for the first time, hoping that I would not omit to see this or that, till I began to be convinced that there was indeed something remarkable in store for me.
The Paneikoneon turned out to be a great mass of buildings in Gothic architecture, of a yellowish stone which provided a pleasingly warm variation from the usual cold grayness of Gothic buildings. The soft voices of the young people echoed down the vast halls as we passed rapidly through immense rooms full of astonishing statuary. I had never taken much interest in sculpture, but here I saw things that made me pause and look. To this day I remember vividly the figure of a girl of about sixteen, poised on one toe, arms spread as though in imitation of a bird taking wing from a tree in front of her. The cold marble looked as though there was life beneath the surface, and seemed ready to leap into dance or burst into song.
We found the famous Miss Janet Keen absorbed in work at an easel, in a roomful of pictures on an upper floor. She waL overwhelmed and carried away, willy nitty, by the enthusiastic picnickers ; and we swept from
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one room to another, picking up various members of the group and gathering numbers as we went
I was amazed at the number and quality of paintings that I saw during those few moments, and certainly the art reflected the locality. There was a brilliant profusion of color and a luxuriance of natural forms, that gave me the same rich and varied impression as did the city itself. There was no dumb drudgery of Millet or tragedy of Meissonier; it was all like happy children playing in the sun. Today, many months afterwards, if I permit myself to recollect those halls full of pictures, I am overcome by a surging flood of nameless emotions, delightful, puzzling, consuming.
How was it possible for this one city to produce such an immense and wonderful collection?
Automatic machinery, of course ! Wealth consists of the products of labor, but it has been measured in terms of human labor. Here the people had control of vast amounts of labor, labor that knew no fatigue, had no limitations, required no wages — the labor of automatic machinery. They had freely at their disposal the equivalent of the labor of millions of skilled and powerful workmen, without involving the degradation of a single human soul in the monotony of toil. As a result, all the people were able to devote themselveB to the higher pursuits for which men have longed in vain during the ageB when necessity compelled them to labor.
Here was another Athens 1 Here was a nation that had developed intellect and beauty to a degree that bid fair to rival that of the old Grecian city. However, in that Athens of old, which has done so much to mold the thought and taste of the world, there was a sad moral blot. The leisure that made possible the accomplish- ment of its artists, statesmen, and thinkers, was achieved only through the labor of millions of slaves. Of these toiling, driven, suffering multitudes, history has nothing to say, nor of the share which they deserve in the glory of Greece
In this modern Athens there was no such disgrace. The slaves doing the drudgery behind the scenes were not human beings, but machines — not the lives of a hundred human beings sacrificed to make possible one sculptor or philosopher, but only iron and oil, gasoline and electricity making beauty: the beauty of human bodies well and gracefully nurtured; the beauty of paintings, statuary, and music; the beauty of high and noble human thought.
As we drove along through the city from the Panei- koneon to the park, I gazed with earnestness and fasci- nation at the people in the streets, looking into their faces and expecting to see something godlike there. And my companions in the car left me to my thoughts, appreciating the fact that the Paneikoneon had im- pressed me deeply. Only when the exuberant crowd began spreading cloths on the grass and I was intro- duced to a couple of dozen of them in turn, did I begin to take notice of things about me. I noted that the young people seemed to enjoy carrying water and mov- ing benches and doing little physical tasks. I tried to help, but finding myself in the way, joined a group of the older people sitting thoughtfully by.
As the lunch went on, I tried to talk to Miss Kaspar. Patiently and persistently I sought to get near her and strike up a conversation, but always, and apparently by accident, I failed. But I knew she was deliberately avoiding me, for in no other way could she have escaped my systematic efforts. Why did she treat me this way?
FINALLY — to me it seemed after several hours — Ames and Dubois arose and sauntered toward the water, motioning to me to join them. Others got up and followed toward the dressing-rooms to don bathing- suits. Here wa3 my chance, thought I. I would steer
the conversation toward the swimming contest and around to the question uppermost in my mind : Would Miss Kaspar be one of tho candidates? Not wishing to make my purpose too apparent, I started far from the subject, intending to make a roundabout approach.
“What sort of swimming strokes do you use here?’’ I asked.
“Most of us prefer the Australian crawl,” Ames answered.
Dubois seemed to resent that, and quickly turned to me.
"There is no doubt in my mind,” he said, “as to the superiority and greater popularity of the Schaefer sprint. Schaefer is still living here, though too old for active athletics.”
Now I would rather have had my turn at the con- versation; but it seemed that I had unwittingly opened a controversial subject.
“Some people prefer it,” Ames said with studied casualness ; there was excitbment beneath, but he tried not to show it. “But the winners are the ones who use the crawl.”
“I can use tho sprint and beat anyone on the crawl,” Dubois said in a voice that sounded thin and tense. I shrugged my shoulders and gave up my conversational plans. Perhaps I would be rewarded by seeing a real fight.
“I’ll take you on!” Ames almost shouted.
“I have a bay mare, trained to the Hopo field, that I’ll stake on the result!" Dubois offered.
“I’m willing to make a little bet, but I’m not inter- ested in horses just now,” Ames replied.
“Then Mildred Kaspar. The loser stays out of the way for a month.”
“No thanks!" Ames shook his head. “I’m not taking any chances there.”
“I’ll bet you a Supervision day, then. The loser takeB the winner’s next Supervision day.”
“That’s good.” Ames seemed pleased. “Mine comes tomorrow, and I’d like to get out of it.”
To me, it was all quite startling. First, I was sur- prised to see these apparently highly cultured people get so excited over the trifling matter of a swimming stroke. Obviously, physical excitement was a rare thing here, where there was no fighting, no labor. Then, the wagers — the idea of betting a girl rather stirred my resentment. Yet, as money meant nothing to them, they had to have something to arouse their interest and provide a motive for action. Finally, the word "Supervision” rang curiously upon my ears. It smacked of industry and machinery in some way. I wondered if they took turns in supervising machinery? If so, it seemed that it must be an unpleasant task.
By this time they were all in bathing suits at the river’s edge. I was amazed at the powerful muscles and wonderful physical development of these people. The little preliminary swimming and diving also im- pressed me, and made me think that I had better look to my laurels in the coming race. Then Ames and Dubois swam off their match, and both of them showed themselves to be accomplished athletes.
For a moment my interest was diverted from the big contest and Miss Kaspar. Ames won the race and was mightily cheered by the rest. Dubois took his de- feat gracefully and cheerfully and shook hands with Ames.
"Remember, tomorrow is my Supervision day,” Ames reminded.
Thereupon Dubois changed countenance and became very glum, nor was it possible to arouse him from it dur- ing the rest of the day. Supervision must be something very unpleasant, I thought. But events followed rapidly.
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Ono of my questions was answered almost at once. The first of the "ladies of honor” for whom the swim- mers were to contend, was placed on an improvised dais made of a pile of park benches. She was pretty in an old-fashioned way, and was presented as a Mrs. Howard. Her husband was in the group. If a married woman was eligible, certainly Miss Kaspar would be. Possibilities were getting better.
Two of the men tumbled a big red buoy into a launch, and anchored it out in the middle of the river, a good quarter of a mile from the shore. A red flower was stuck into the top of it. At the sound of a whistle, a half dozen swimmers plunged into the water amid cheers and chaffing. The applause continued while one of them forged ahead, got the flower, and brought it back. Dripping and breathless, he presented it to the girl on the dais. She accepted it like a queen, and they went off together arm in arm, with a great show of comrade- ship, cheered by the crowd. Another girl was raised on the dais, and the crowd took it all very seriously.
Again I watched as the swimmers plunged, and the winded victor brought his flower to the girl on the dais. Then came Phyllis’s turn. She seemed to be quite popular, judging by the number of young men who leaped into the water for her. Also I noticed that Ames was staying out of these races. And, suddenly, there was Miss Kaspar on the dais.
I was very much in earnest now. Perhaps the sight of Ames in the group that was getting ready, roused mo. Any qualms about paying attention to an engaged girl were removed by the sight of the largest group of contestants that had as yet tried for any of the girls. I looked at Miss Kaspar. She did not seem to like it very well and did not pay much attention to what was going on ; but the sight of her tightened my muscles and sent, a thrill of determination through me.
I dove mightily when the whistle blew, and struck out with my best crawl stroke. For a time my head was down, and the whole world consisted of splashing water. After a while I lifted my head and looked quickly about. The unpleasant realization was forced upon mo, that physically, I was no match for these people at all. Though I was putting forth my utmost efforts, they were leaving me behind, easily and rapidly. I was very resentful at them, because all their lives they had nothing to do except to train for athletics, and therefore had me at a disadvantage. However, I kept grimly on, for I could not afford to look foolish now.
Suddenly I was astonished to find myself passing one after another of them. One more spurt and there was no one ahead of me. I risked the loss of enough time to look back. They had all stopped swimming and were staring blankly ahead. I looked, expecting to see some- thing sensational there, but there was nothing. Noth- ing that would explain this panic at least. I was more than half way to the buoy, and could see the flower on it. Near it, floating down the middle of the river was a mass of brushwood and green foliage. It was bearing down directly on the buoy. In fact, as I watched it, it drifted against the buoy, and carried it with its red flower along downstream.
I kept on, for I wanted that flower. The others re- mained where they had stopped. Then I saw that the floating material consisted of two great logs which had been sawn squarely off, and the white, clean ends, and the sawdust sprinkled bark showed that they had been cut recently. They were fastened together by an iron chain, of which a short piece with a broken link hung down to the water.
Then the black tug came into my line of vision. I had not noticed it before. It was coming on rapidly, and as it approached, the other swimmers retreated to the shore.
As a bit of dare-deviltry, I swam after the logs, climbed upon them, and waved the red flower to the folks on the shore. They all stood motionless as statues. I chuckled as I imagined how shocked they all felt to see me behaving without any respect for a machine. For, as the tug churned up to the logs and hooked on to them, I stood calmly and watched the procedure. There were no people on the tug; in fact it was too small to contain any. After I had gotten a little ride back up the river on the logs, I scrambled through the leaves and branches to the opposite end, dove off, and swam leisurely to the shore. While I swam, I pondered.
WHY had they suddenly stopped in the middle of the race? And fled to the shore ? Especially after they had been so intensely excited about it from the first? I wondered whether there were not some grave danger, and whether I had unconsciously run some serious risk. Yet, they had never made a move to warn me or call me back.
As I pondered on it, two explanations occurred to me, and subsequent experience showed that both were correct. One was that these people, though remarkably intelligent along artistic lines, were really intellectually topheavy; they were not quickly resourceful, nor able to act in emergencies, simply because they were so pam- pered by the machines, that they had never had the training that necessity gives. The other was that the sawed logs and chain were an indication that there might be machinery around ; and then the tug appeared. Machinery was disgusting, and not fit to appear in polite society.
Not a word was spoken when I got out of the water. They all regarded me with faces that seemed filled with awe. They fell back and permitted me to pass through the middle of the group, dripping and exultant. I felt a sort of contempt for them. It occurred to me that at the head of a hundred determined savages I could capture their whole city.
A voice in the crowd — I was relieved that it was not Ames — said almost apologetically:
"They ought to swim that over again."
"What!” I exclaimed, in alarmed indignation.
"It wasn’t exactly regular," said the courteous voice whose owner I did not see.
"The conditions were to get the flower. I’ve got the flower!” I exclaimed angrily, now more in earnest than anyone else. In fact, I acted worse than they did. But, one glance at Miss Kaspar, who was now radiant with a wonderful smile — the same girl that had given me her hand on the first evening — astonished me and steeled me in my determination not to yield the point.
"Of course,” explained some other person whom I could not locate, “the flower was but a symbol of the best swimming, and an accident interfered.”
"I didn’t see any reason why everyone couldn’t finish!” I looked around, but no one would meet my angry glance. All stood silent and reproachfully down- cast.
"The devil take your flowers !” I shouted, dashing the pretty thing to the ground. I went to the bathing houses, resumed my clothes, strode over to where MisB Kaspar sat, took her arm, and led her away, just as the previous swimmers had done. The others never moved nor uttered a sound ; I could not tell whether they were afraid of me or merely disgusted with me. Anyway, a half hour later they seemed to have completely forgotten the whole business, and treated me as though it had never happened. Was it a high type of tact and courtesy, or was it a species of mental deficiency? I could not tell.
"Davy !” said Miss Kaspar, in a soft, frightened tone of voice, "That was a reckless thing! Why did you do it?”
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“I wanted to talk to you. You kept avoiding me. Now you must talk to me!”
“You wanted to?” Her voice was different than it had been all day. “Truly did you? I thought you wanted to talk to Phyllis.”
“So, that is why you have been so distant ?"
“You and Phyllis looked so happy and intimate com- ing down the street so early yesterday morning "
“You don’t believe that now, do you, Mildred ?”
“No, Davy. You have proved your words. But, you will have to go on with it and be my partner in the grand march.”
"Ha! Ha! You talk as though it were some sort of punishment for me. I’d lick the black tug barehanded for the privilege of that dance, or whatever it is. I’ll take good care of you for Mr. Ames.”
“For Mr. Ames!” She shrank back as though a thunderbolt had struck near her. “What do you mean by that?”
“Why — I — I understand you were engaged.”
“The idea! I’m not engaged to Mr. Ames, nor to anybody. Whatever made you think that?”
As I thought back, I had to admit to myself that there never had been any real tangible reason for believing such a thing. My own morbid imagination had read a significance into a number of meaningless circumstances.
In an instant the universe changed. I would have liked to give a whoop and jump high into the air, and come down and dance a highland fling. With a great effort, I remained on the ground and acted calmly. I met her eyes. Not a word was said, but a great deal was understood. Then she gave a little toss of her head and a smile, as though to shake back her hair, and with it the constraint that had existed between us.
“Now," she said, “I’m really looking forward to tomorrow night. And when we get home, I want you to bring me your khaki shirt. The sleeve is all torn from the crane, and I want to show you that some girls on this island can sew.”
CHAPTER V A Machinc-Devi!
ON my first and second mornings on the island I had spent a long and dreary wait, wandering about the house and grounds until someone had appeared. On this, the third morning, I found Mildred out in the garden busily snipping flowers off a vine.
“I had to get up early today. These flowers are for the ball tonight, and they keep better when they are cut in the morning,” she explained, i accepted the explanation, without inquiring too deeply into the real reason for her being out so early. I was merely glad she was there.
However, the mention of the famous “ball” about which everyone was so excited, brought me up with a start.
“I am afraid of tonight’s ball,” I remarked in an effort to keep up a conversation which must be kept up ; and the words came to my tongue with that strange fatality which sometimes makes our most superficial conversation express our innermost secrets. “I am not much of a society man.”
"Now!” she said reproachfully, “that is just because you have to be my partner. I knew you would try to back out.” At the same time, a merry laugh and a twinkle in the brown eyes belied the words.
"Will there be many there?” I asked.
“It is usually not a crowded affair. Bat the ball is held in a most wonderful place. The pavilion and its grounds are beautiful as a dream. There are special
dresses and light effects and clever dances. It always thrills me through and through. You came at a lucky time, for it might be a year before you had this oppor- tunity again.”
Others apparently thought the same. As we walked to the veranda with armfuls of white, waxy flowers, Phyllis came skipping up.
“I can hardly believe that you haven’t seen the pavilion yet!” she cried as soon as she was close enough to be heard. Apparently everyone’s first thought on awakening this morning had been the ball. “I wish I were you, and seeing it for the first time!" She gurgled ecstatically, in her childish way.
When I had heard the same thing from several other people whom I met later during the day, I gradually developed a good deal of curiosity and eagerness to see the evening’s event. I smiled as I thought back to the days in Galveston when my great-uncle and I had planned the outfit for this trip.
“It seems that since I’ve come to the island,” I said to ICaspar later, “I’ve become some sheik. All I think about is clothes to wear ”
Kaspar laughed heartily.
"That’s right!” he said. "I know better than to expect a young fellow to go to a function like that unless he had exactly the correct thing on. We'll drive to town and get you some.”
“It takes a lot of nerve on my part to ask for things that way ”
“No. You must feel just as free to take them as you would to pick fruit off our trees. It amounts to the same thing.”
So, that afternoon, we drove to the neat little shop- ping district, Kaspar and Mildred and I. I went into a store, which was really a "store” and not a selling institution; and there I was furnished with all of the clothes and accessories that I needed to fit me to take my place among the young men at the “ball” that evening.
HOWEVER, I soon found that I was only a side- issue in this shopping expedition. Mildred was carrying on the principal program. She went into storo after store, while Kaspar and I waited in the car outdoors. He sat with a grave face and a merry twinkle in his eye; and I watched the street and the people fascinatedly. Mildred was flushed and excited about it. By the time we reached home, the pneumatic tube was discharging a perfect deluge of bundles.
In the evening, a couple of dozen young folks, on their way to the ball in their cars, stopped for us at Kaspar’s home.
I noticed that Ames was not among the group. He had been cordial enough to me on the way home after the swimming contest, and I did not believe that he had anything personal against me. Yet I believed that he took Mildred seriously, and felt very much hurt about being deprived of her on this special occasion. I ought to have felt sorry for him, but I didn’t. Some- one in the group brought word that he was coming to the pavilion later in the evening. At least, I could not help admiring the delicate tact of his methods.
Then Mildred came out. I had not seen her all after- noon, and now she fairly took my breath away. And now I saw the purpose of the forenoon's shopping campaign. A torrent of surprised compliments and delighted congratulations broke out from the crowd of visitors. It was evident that this was the first time they had ever seen her in anything but plain gray- brown, and that they were happy at the transformation.
There were twenty in the group, young and old; and we drove in four cars. As usual, Mrs. Kaspar remained at home, but Kaspar and Cassidy came along.
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They went everywhere, keeping a protecting eye on Mildred, and possibly on me. That in itself was a sort of sinister hint of danger, that kept up a background of worry to everything I experienced.
The car in which I was riding, with Mildred, Kaspar, Cassidy, and a half dozen others, was in the lead. We were some three hundred yards from the pavilion, and could already hear strains of music, when the little accident occurred. As an accident, it wa3 quite trivial and insignificant; but the reaction of the people to it surprised me and set me to thinking. We met a car coming from the opposite direction, and our car swerved to the right side of the road. There was a crunch of the pavement, and a lurch that threw us about in our seats. The roar of our machinery rapidly died down to silence, and the car stood motionless, tipped to the right side. I thought at first that an axle had broken or a wheel had come off.
The cause of my astonishment, however, was that everybody sat still and did nothing. Their chatter was hushed for a moment; they looked about with helpless faces, in perplexed silence. But no one stirred. They all behaved as though they had been bound hand and foot. I stood up and looked about. Kaspnr's face was inscrutable. My eyes met Cassidy’s; he shrugged his shoulders and his face momentarily broadened into a grin; but his eyes told me nothing.
Finally I jumped out of the car and ran around to the side where the trouble seemed to be. A piece of pavement had given way and the wheel had sunk into the soft ground so that the axle rested on the ground. A little stream of water flowing alongside the road showed what was responsible for the cave-in.
"Three or four of us can lift this out easily,” I suggested. I had in mind the powerful shoulders and muscular arms that I had seen during the swimming match.
The other carloads of young people coming along behind us stopped for a moment, and then passed ub and went on. There was only a short piece of smooth, brilliantly lighted road ahead, leading to the pavilion. I walked back and forth, down the road toward the pavilion and back toward the car, hoping that it might occur to them that the short walk that remained would be a pleasant variation. But they accepted no sug- gestion. They sat as helpless as rag-dolls, and I did not feel like saying anything directly. I was thoroughly disgusted. Evidently Cassidy noticed it. He laughed, but it was a forced sort of a laugh.
“You’re a young fellow that’s used to taking care of yourself," he said, with an effort at speaking casually. “Well, that isn’t necessary here. This machine auto- matically signals for help when it gets into trouble, and we have nothing to do but wait.”
And wait we all did. Within five minutes’ walk of the pavilion, the group sat as though they had been marooned on a desert island. I noted the small radio antenna over the top of the machine and heard the humming of coils as the signal went out.
Finally the big noisy truck came. As far as I could see, there was no one driving or controlling it; but there was no way of making certain of that, as men might possibly have been hidden on it. I wondered if these people had such an aversion to their working class, that they could not even bear to look at a me- chanic or laborer. In a business-like way, the relief truck hooked a chain under the axle of our car, and raised it up with its derrick. We finished the short remainder of our trip quite smoothly.
After the scene I had just witnessed, the vivacity and activity with which the people leaped out of the car and trooped up the steps of the pavilion were sur- prising and inconsistent.
Edgar Allan Poe dreamed dreams of beauty too transcendent for mortals to behold; and the scene, I now beheld, seemed to be one of the places of which he wrote. The pavilion was in a grove outside the city, beside the broad river. The building was long and low and white, with faqades like the Parthenon. In the moonlight it did not seem quite real and solid; it seemed rather to float on the great billows of shrub- bery embroidered with brilliant flowers. Tall rows of slim trees stood guard around it, and here and there and everywhere, huge, exotic flowers gleamed and glowed in the moon’s rays. As we approached, long glimmers from the moon came toward me across the distant water. I could just see the soft glow of light between the columns from within the building. The strains of music drifted over, soft and low. I could have believed that I was approaching some en- chanted fairyland.
Within, the floor of some red wood with purple veins was polished smooth as glass. There were ladies in fluffy, pale-tinted gowns that seemed unreal in the vari-colored glow-lights. The gentlemen wore graceful and courtly. The music was not obtrusive in volume, but ever-present and gently suggestive of rhythm; and more effective in stirring one into movement than any lilt I had ever heard. The dancing was instinctively graceful and beautiful. As the dancers glided about in the changing lights, the movements, the colors, and the music affected me like some drug.
BUT I myself was not part of it. The others be- longed in the picture; I couldn’t fit into it. I was a detached spectator. For this there were many reasons. I felt awkward because my practice in dancing had been meager. Possibly once a month in the inter- vals of hard work, I had taken some equally hard- worked teacher or stenographer to a dance. The per- sonal beauty and grace that I had developed by years of hard riding on the ranges and in recent years by bending over books and laboratory experiments, did not compare favorably with that of the people about me. They were without exception fine looking.
There was a little informal and desultory dancing to begin with; but the main interest was centered in the preparations for the "grand march.” Partners sought each other out and looked for their positions. Everything was ready to start except that they did not like to go ahead without Ames. As far as I could learn, he had no essential part to play; but he was such a prominent member of the group, and they were so accustomed to having him present that they felt lost without him.
"He has no reason to be late today*” Dubois grumbled, "after I’ve taken his Supervision and he has had nothing to do all day."
"That’s right,” said someone else, in an awed tone. “Ames escaped his turn at Supervision today. Nobody’s ever done that before.”
“I wonder if something hasn’t happened to him,” asked Phyllis in a frightened whisper. "That was a dangerous thing to do.”
I remember how admiringly she had spoken of him on the first morning; and from her tone now, I sus- pected that she was more worried about Ames than was anyone else.
The impatient group broke up for the moment. There was a little dancing, and people drifted outdoors to pass away a little more time of waiting. Mildred ran to ask her grandfather if she could.
"He has made me promise faithfully to ask him about every little step, I make,” she explained, half-ashamed of the childish position in which she was placed. "For some reason he is very much worried about me.”
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As I waited for her, I happened to wander past where a group of boys in a circle were excitedly discuss- ing something. Their naive gestures of excitement were a welcome relief from the perfect culture of their elders. As soon as I got near enough to catch a few words, I suspected that they were talking about me; and my curiosity got the best of considerations of conventionality. Without thinking what I was doing, I listened.
“I wonder if he will also have to do Supervision?” one boy asked.
“Of course he will! Everybody does!" was the dog- matic reply.
“No, Kaspar’s family does not; and he is in Kaspar’s home.”
A boy of about sixteen just opposite me waved his fist in indignation. I liked his sturdy looks.
“Silly!” he snorted contemptuously. “Supervision! I want real work to do. I want to make machines, like JCaspar did.”
There was a sudden lull in the talk, as of astonish- ment, of fear. Then an older boy’s reproof :
“You fool! I hope no one heard you. These things have ears everywhere. Do you know that they got Higgins day before yesterday?”
Then a very small boy piped, as though repeating a lesson learned by rote:
“Our first duty is to the machines!”
Mildred came by and hurried me away.
“Your eyes look as big as saucers,” she laughed.
As the tentacles waved about me and coiled and bent, l could hear a continuous clicking coming from them.
I tried to compose my astonished exterior, but calm- ing the whirling astonishment within me was not so easy. The thoughtless words of children will often let the cat out of the bag, while the carefully acquired habits of adults keep secrets safely. Here was another confirmation of my suspicions that the people on this island were not as completely happy as external ap- pearances might seem to indicate. These people did not understand all this vast machinery; they could not operate it nor keep it in repair. Somewhere on the island there must be others who did so; and in some
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way they seemed to hold these grown-up children of the City of Beauty in their power. There was lurking fear in the eyes of the boys, and in an occasional unguarded glance of the elders.
“There’s Ames now!” someone shouted.
We pushed our way out on the broad staircase of the curved balcony. A car was hurrying toward us, up the broad sweep of pavement bordered with shrub- bery and electric lights on concrete pillars. On the opposite side of the drive were parked many cars in a dense crowd. There were numerous shouts of pleasant bantering as Ames was recognized in the brilliant illumination of the electric lamps. His car drove into an empty parking-space, and he got out and started across the stretch of pavement toward us.
Then there was a rattle of an exhaust off to the right, and a whirl of machinery up the road. A hor- rible looking thing on wheels dashed up and made directly for Ames, focussing on him its glaring head- lights. He stopped as though rooted to the spot. A more frightful looking thing has never been imagined in all the lore of sea-monsters and dragons. It was the same thing that I had caught a glimpse of that night on the dock, or another thing just like it. Its general form was that of a huge motorcycle, with a great coffin-shaped box seven feet high between the wheels, at the top of which were two goggly headlights. Only, the first time I had seen it, it had seemed to have some sort of black ropes coiled round and round the box. Now these were unwound. They waved about, felt around, coiled and uncoiled, and grasped at the empty air; ten or a dozen huge, black tentacles, filling the air with sinuous, snaky masses.
Right in the middle of the road, in plain view of a couple of hundred people, it reached for Ames and wrapped a black coil around him. He stood as though struck paralyzed, though I could see him tremble. It began to drag him toward itself. In another moment, as I looked about me, I was alone. The people were all fleeing pell-mell into the building.
FOR an instant I was puzzled as to what to do. But Ames’ face, bright white in the glaring light, in the uttermost agony of fear, convinced me that he was in some sort of danger. I started toward him in big jumps, at the same time opening a heavy pocketknife that I carried. As I reached him, I felt the coil of a tentacle about me, and was surprised at the strength of it. However, with a quick squirm I managed to duck out of its grasp. I grasped Ames' arm and slashed away with my knife at the coils about him.
As the tentacles waved about me and coiled and bent, I could hear a continuous clicking coming from them. When I cut at them with my knife I struck something hard, some metal. It seemed that my knife first went through a layer of something soft, rubber perhaps, and then slipped in between metal plates; and I could feel it catch and cut through wires. As it went through, a purple spark followed it, and a spark bit into my hand. Thus, while my body and arms struggled with the monster, my mind grappled with the astounding revelation, that this was not some animal enclosed within the box, some sea-monster as I had supposed. These snaky, twisting tentacles were me- chanical things, built up of metal discs and wires, and carrying a high-frequency current.
Again I ducked out of the grasp of a tentacle. One already hung limp. I shook Ames, but he was com- pletely unnerved. He had made no struggle whatsoever. I have no doubt, and have none to this day, that with a little determined effort he could have gotten loose and escaped up the steps. But he gave up from the beginning.
Then I heard a scream from Mildred, and a great bellow from Cassidy:
“Davy! Stop! Come here quick!”
I saw no choice except to obey, especially as two more tentacles closed around me. I dropped and twisted in an effort to get loose, but they had me in opposite directions, one closed against the other; and my efforts were of no avail. So, with the main force of two hands, I opened out the grasp of one of them. It took all my strength to do so, and I am known as a strong man. I bent it back with a twist, and heard it snap ; it dropped away from me and hung limp, and there was a smell of scorched rubber. With a common wrestling trick, I escaped from the remaining coil and ran up the steps.
As I turned to look back, Ames was on a side seat of the machine with several coils around him, and the thing was carrying him off down the road. The day before I had admired him for his athletic prowess. Now I cursed him for a stupid fool to let himself be carried away like a sack of potatoes.
I got back to the dance, none the worse except for some slight disarrangement of my clothing. Kaspar and Cassidy took me sternly in hand. I did not know that Kaspar could be so severe. I felt like a schoolboy, caught throwing paper-wads.
“I have warned you,” he said. “If you persist in being rash, you will not only succeed in having yourself destroyed, but will upset some cherished plans of ours.” “What in Sam Hill is going on?" I exclaimed. “What’s happening to Ames?”
Cassidy answered me. Kaspar was hurrying away to see if Mildred was safe.
“I am not sure. Perhaps his failure to appear at Supervision today has something to do with it. I do not suppose we shall ever see him again.”
“But, who’s doing it?” I demanded. “Who’s in the machine? And who’s behind it all?”
“That is the tragedy of the people of the island,” Cassidy said sadly. “That is the burden our people carry for no fault of their own. But we cannot talk about it here. There are mechanical eyes and ears everywhere, and I’m not ready to be taken away yet."
The next jolt I got was to see the dance going on as though nothing had happened. People were min- gling and chatting, sitting at tables with iced-drinks, with all the appearance of festive gayety. Only when I came close to them, I saw that they were pale and staring, and that they carried on a forced conversa- tion, like the people of a defeated city after a battle. The grand march went on. Mildred came toward me with hand outstretched, her usually brown face as pale as milk.
“It’s time for us to march,” was all she said. Not a word in reference to the nightmare that had just occurred. But, with her finger on her lips and a grave look in her eyes, she gave me to comprehend that she understood my impatient curiosity, but that now I must go on with the game.
I found myself wondering whether anything really serious had happened after all. Might it not have been some sort of a joke, or some sort of a game acted out? But no, there was that look of pale horror on Ames’ face, and the panicky flight of the people into the pavilion. The sudden starts of terror in unguarded moments here and there could not be acting; they were basic emotions breaking through, because they were too strong for even the most perfect of social training and discipline. I came across Dubois alone at a table.
“Couldn’t you explain to me what happened to Ames?” I pleaded. “This mystery is driving me crazy.” All he did was to put his head down on his am and turn away. He sat that way motionless and without
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a sound, for so long that finally, out of sheer embar- rassment, I got up and moved away. And only a few moments later I saw him dancing merrily again. And behind a screen there were two women over Phyllis, who was all crumpled and shaking with sobs.
How these people could go on with their gayety, with the appearance of enjoying themselves, I could not comprehend. With great difficulty 1 forced myself through a few dances. When I caught sight of the sixteen-year-old lad with the determined face, who had played the part of a heretic among his fellows a little earlier in the evening, I maneuvered him aside, hoping to get some information.
“I'd like to know who it was that captured Ames — who runs those machines — what do they want of him?” I asked all at once.
He became excited. He looked about to see if anyone could overhear, and moved to an open space, motion- ing me to follow.
“Serves them right,” he exclaimed. ‘‘They’ll all be taken some day, every last one of them. They putter around with art and waste their time on sport; and dance — bah! I'm sick of it. I want to work. I want to do things. I want to make machines.”
He looked furtively about him again. A frightened expression came into his face, and with a mumbled apology de dived away.
I SOUGHT refuge in an obscure corner, in order that I might think.
It was evident that the people had become so accus- tomed to being waited on by machinery that they were helpless and had no initiative in personal matters.
And yet, this machinery that took care of them, produced fear and diBgust in their minds! Though utterly dependent on it, they considered it disgraceful to notice it, and unpardonable social gaucherie to men- tion it in conversation.
Then, another thing: Machinery requires attention. Someone has got to understand it. Somewhere there must be hundreds, thousands of mechanics to operate it, care for it, and repair it. They should form a large proportion of the population. And in this stratum of inhabitants, which was the only one I had thus far seen, engineers ought to plentiful. Why had I not met an engineer? Were the mechanically occupied persons considered outcasts by these artist-sportsmen? Was it a disgrace to be connected with machinery? Did not the mechanically-minded people associate with the artis- tically-minded? Was there war between them?
For it was apparent that sometimes the machinery injured people, and favored them with other unpleasant and alarming attentions. These things could not be merely accidents. I had seen enough now to be certain that somewhere behind them was malevolent intention.
I could come to no other conclusion than that the people who operated and took care of the machines were a separate class, lived elsewhere, and did not in any way associate with the aristocracy with whom I mingled. The artistic aristocracy were the masters, and the mechanics were the servants. My yesterday’s beautiful picture of an ideal community tumbled sadly in ruins. For these masters did not live the completely happy life that I had at first thought. For one thing they seemed to have degenerated from being so con- stantly pampered, so that they had no fighting ability, no courage. Furthermore, it seemed that their servants, the mechanics, possessed the power to terrify them, carry them away, perhaps to kill them. Ames had no doubt been “taken” as a disciplinary measure. But why had they attacked Mildred? What had she done? And why ICaspar’s dark hints as to my own danger, even while we were still on the ship? What had I done?
And there was that Supervision! The word implied power and authority, and yet these people spoke of it as though it were some compulsory and unpleasant burden. Everyone I knew trembled with that word on their lips.
For a third time I tried to get information concern- ing the meaning of the gruesome scene I had witnessed. I asked Kaspar- as we were starting homeward from the ball. The two of us had fallen back and were walking behind the others on our way to the cars.
“It is in the interest of your own safety,” he re- minded, "that you do not speak too loud. I am anxious to help you. I cannot even tell you the real reason for my interest in you just now, for fear of spoiling thinga. I shall try to find some opportunity of explaining things to you as far as I can ; but I assure you that it cannot be done here and now.”
He said it very gently and very kindly; but there was nothing left for me to Bay or do.
As I thought it over, I could not help feeling that for many reasons there was more chance of getting my questions answered by asking her, than from any- one else. Yet, I was a little unnerved when it came to asking her, especially when I thought of the strange reactions of the others to my inquiries.
She and I lingered outdoors after the others had gone into the house. She seemed quietly happy.
“Did you enjoy it?” she asked.
“Beautiful,” I admitted; “almost too much for me. But some of the doings about got my goat.”
She remained staring blankly at me for a moment, and then broke ir.m a peal of chuckling laughter.
“You have some strange ways of saying things,” she laughed. “Say something like that again.”
“I am very much puzzled about tonight’s happenings,” I explained, “but I am afraid to ask questions ’*
“You may ask me,” she said with a smile that shone in the moonlight. “I won’t get shocked."
I was so relieved to find my path clear thus far, that for the moment I could not think of the first question to ask.
“Who — ?” I finally began, but suddenly a soft little hand covered my mouth. Then, as suddenly, it drew back, and its owner stepped away, abashed at what she had impulsively done. Just for a moment she was embarrassed; and then she threw back her head with that characteristic little toss that delighted my heart.
“Wait!” she whispered. “Not here. I almost forgot. We might be overheard. Wait right here.”
She flew into the house. I waited there in the moon- light, with the gleaming foliage about me, for fifteen minutes. I surmised that she had run in to ask Kaspar permission for something she wished to do. And there dawned on me the answer to one question that had been ringing in my head: why was it that she seemed to stand out from the others? At least one cause for that was, that she was always ready and anxious to do some service for others. Then she came flying out of the house again, and I surmised that her breathlessness was due more to excitement than to exertion.
"Tomorrow morning at nine o’clock be ready,” she ordered with great glee. “Have on your rough brown clothes and heavy boots, and prepare for adventure. And don’t forget what you wanted to ask me.”
CHAPTER VI The Gulls’ Nest
BY nine in the morning, Mildred had driven Sappho out in front of the house, and was sitting in the seat, waiting for me to come out.
A charming woman is always a fresh source of delightful surprise. Mildred in her "outing” things
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was just as refreshing a change from Mildred of the “ball gown,” as was the latter from the Mildred of the gray-brown gaberdine. To see her in a tight jacket and short skirt of greenish-brown and a pair of boots aroused a strange, deep enthusiasm within me. Her own eyes danced with excited anticipation. They sur- veyed me as I came toward her.
“I feel self-conscious in these things, after my two days in society clothes,” I apologized, looking over my rough whipcord outfit. She smiled brightly as she saw me glance down at my left sleeve which she had sewn for me. I wondered if she had noted the bulge under my left arm where I had slung my big service pistol under my shirt. I had debated whether or not to carry it; but recollecting Kaspar’s numerous dark hints of danger I formed a resolve never to go very far without my pistol, my hand ax at my belt, and my field-glasses over my shoulder. From then on I stuck to this rigidly.
“Hello Sappho, you old ash-can!” I shouted, slapping the fender. “You played a wicked trick on me the other day!”
“You mustn’t speak roughly to poor little Sappho,” Mildred interceded. “She has been a faithful friend in the Kaspar family.”
As if in reply, Sappho gave a little jump forward as I was getting in, for Mildred was already setting the dials; and in another moment had started at a dignified rate down the street.
“I am all eagerness to know where we are going and jyhat we are going to do,” I said as we got started.
“I told you all that I possibly could, last night,” Mildred replied enigmatically, as though someone were listening. “I think it would be wisest to say nothing until the time comes."
I was so surprised that I looked at her and opened my mouth as though to speak, and then looked all around to see who was eavesdropping. But she looked at me so sharply and quickly, as though someone were in reality listening, that I closed my mouth again and said nothing. I contented myself with looking at the great masses of foliage and flowers that buried the beautiful residences along the street on which we drove.
A couple of miles out of the city we came to a fork in the paved road. One continued straight ahead, to the west, and was lost on the horizon among flat, green fields. The car, however, turned into the one which branched off to the left, southwards. I was just suffi- ciently oriented to know that it led in the direction of the coast where I had first landed on the island, and was without doubt the same road by which we had entered the city on the first night.
For five or six miles we went through a perfectly flat country, covered with marvelously well-tended fields and apparently perfect crops. I took advantage of the opportunity to ask and receive some instruction in the operation of the car. There were direction dials and distance dials; and the route was planned like an equation in calculus. The method, however, required memorizing rather than understanding, unless one en- joyed wrestling with the abstract operation of integra- tion that was involved.
For several miles we drove through a leafy tunnel, and then, as suddenly as we had entered, we emerged into the blinding sunlight. Ahead of us were granite cliffs, and beyond them, the sea. A broad turn of the road around the base of the cliffs brought us into the little harbor where Kaspar and I had landed from the black yacht. But now it was deserted. The little plank dock with the paved road leading to it were the only signs that lent a human value to the lonely place. Near the dock we stopped to get out of the car. Mil- dred twiddled the dials on the instrument board, where-
upon the car turned around and drove back along the road by which we had come, disappearing in the gloom of the forest road.
“I’ll never get over the uncanny effect of seeing these machines go about by themselves,” I said. “Why couldn’t it stand here and wait for us?”
“The place where we are going is a secret. We don’t want even a car to know about it,” she replied with perfect seriousness. She spoke as though the car might be an intruder into our little company of two; and the fancy pleased me. My father, who was a country practitioner in east Texas, often spoke of his cars as faithful creatures, as though they might have been living things, conscious of his gratitude.
“Soon,” she continued, “we’ll be able to talk all we want. But now come on. We have a lively walk ahead of us.”
We turned to the right (or west), following the shore line, walking on the packed sand strewn with granite boulders. Finally we got in among the cliffs, and into a small canyon. We began to go upward, and our way soon formulated itself into a steep pathway. Mildred led me along at such a swift pace that I had no breath left with which to ask questions; I hurried along behind her, wondering what could be her purpose in bringing me here. At least, I thought, looking upward, we shall get high enough to get a good view out over the island. I was very eager for a bird's-eye view of this strange country. Now and again I caught a glimpse of the sea, and then of the forest in the distance. In some places it was really dangerous climbing.
Finally, after pushing upward for a good twenty minutes we reached the top, so unexpectedly that it surprised me. We were in a bowl, partly of sand and partly of bare granite, about the size of an ordinary dwelling room. We arrived at the edge nearest the sea, from which we could look out over the intensely blue ocean, and almost straight down at its lacy border of white foam where the waves broke on the pink granite. To the east and west the coastline extended to the horizon, a broad strip of yellow sand, occasional groups of cliffs, and back of them the forest, dense and dark. To t.he north I could not see, for there the cliffs forming the edge of the bowl rose a dozen feet higher than our heads. From the middle or bottom of the bowl I could see only sky.
“This is the Gulls’ Nest!" panted Mildred. “Nobody knows of it but grandfather and me. He found it when I was a little girl. Look!”
She scraped away the sand from the middle of the floor, and revealed an iron trap-door with a ring.
“I was surprised when grandfather gave me per- mission to bring you here,” she continued. “He even reminded me to teach you the combination of this.”
She opened the door, revealing a small cellar in the rock, containing a supply of preserved foods in cans, jars and bottles.
“It is to be used in case of emergency only. Grand- father is always expecting emergencies.”
“Dear old grandfather!” she went on earnestly. “He understands. You cannot imagine the torture of the past three days. How I have ached to ask you things about where you came from, and what your people are like, and what they do ; and yet not daring to do so. Sometimes it has almost driven me frantic to pretend, that like the others, I did not care. They shut their eyes to the fact that you come from The Outside. I am so glad that we have a place where we can talk ”
AND so, instead of asking questions, I answered . them. She seemed so hungry to know about the outside world that I did not have the heart to obtrude my own curiosity. Nevertheless, my mind was full
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of questions, and I watched eagerly for an opportunity to ask them. Why is it that the island people do not dare to talk about the outside world? Why this fear of being overheard, even where there could not possibly be anyone to overhear? What had happened to Ames, and why? Who was behind that mysterious abduction? Where were the engineers and the people who tended and repaired the machinery? Where were the shops and factories and warehouses? And, I was restless to look to the north, out over the island, past this granite wall behind me.
But for an hour I talked of Galveston, and of the countless other cities dotted over our broad land, teem- ing with their millions of people. I talked of rich and poor ; of laborers and soldiers and police ; of wickedness and charity; of railroads, airplanes, and ships — of all the things she had never seen nor heard of. She listened with wide-open eyes fixed on me, scarcely breathing, and then I knew for a fact, that these things had been unknown to her. Therefore, it was not sur- prising that my own curiosity faded in the thrill of imparting the things that to her were so strange and startling.
“Why! It’s nearly noon!” Mildred suddenly ex- claimed in surprise. “We didn’t bring a lunch, and it wouldn't do to draw on the emergency things. We’ll have to hurry home, or we’ll starve.”
“I’m already doing that now," I said. “But ?”
I turned toward the blank wall to the north of us.
“Ah, I know. You would prefer starvation to missing seeing something." She laughed archly. “Well, I knew you would want to look out over the island.”
She led the way along a path at one side, to the top of the wall at the north. From this I beheld a per- fectly amazing view.
Immediately below, over a wild and desolate area of granite cliff's, I could see a dense, dark forest. Beyond It were broad, green fields through which wound the shining river and far in the distance a ridge of hazy blue mountains. For all I could tell, the island might extend in that direction for a thousand miles. On my right, toward the southeast was the city. A City of Beauty it was indeed, with its red roofs and many- colored buildings, its gleaming domes and graceful towers, only partially seen for the cushions of green among which they rested. All around the city, along the flat bottom lands of the river valley, were the level, green, cultivated fields. Around these was the forest, like a belt. One glance told me that without a doubt, these thousands of acres had been cleared of timber and reclaimed from the virgin jungle, by the hand of man. Here was a vast work, whose achievement must have been thrilling history.
On my left, toward the northeast, was the jungle, impenetrable, dark-green, with a million scintillating reflections on its surface, stretching for miles and miles toward the blue horizon. And on that horizon, a couple of points to the west of northwest, hung a dark, dense pall of heavy smoke. It was a gloomy, depressing smudge that caused a discordant note in that spreading and luxuriant paradise.
“What!” I exclaimed. “A volcano?"
Quickly I reached for my field-glasses, and as I swung them around to the dense nucleus of the smoky smudge near the horizon, my surprise was so great that I nearly lost my balance on the narrow ridge. For there were black shapes and towering masses of buildings, belching chimneys, and a typical skyline of an immense industrial metropolis.
It looked as though it might be twenty miles away. A white ribbon of road led from the City of Beauty toward that black nucleus, sprinkled with swiftly mov- ing dots of traffic. It was an artery carrying a busy
black stream between the two cities. The sight of it brought back all the fire of my curiosity again.
“A city!” I exclaimed. “So there are other cities on the island?”
“Just the two,” Mildred answered. “That is the City of Smoke!”
“Smoke is right!” I said, with much feeling in my tones.
“That is where the machines are,” she continued. “That is where they make all the things for us. That is probably where Kendall Ames is. Those are the things you wanted to ask about.”
She looked around as though afraid someone would overhear her, and then recollected herself and smiled at her absent-minded betrayal of the force of habit.
So that was it! Beauty and comfort were so impor- tant that everything involving dirt, noise, smoke, and unsightliness had to be put into a separate and distant city. By what arrangement did the aristocracy in the City of Beauty live and lord over the thousands that must be toiling over yonder? To such a degree had they carried their fastidiousness that they could not even bear to see a workman or to talk about him. All they could endure was smoothly running machinery.
ON the face of it, one would think that these would be characteristic of a hard-hearted and cruel race. Yet these people in the City of Beauty did not look like that at all. To me they appeared merely light-hearted and thoughtless.
"And Supervision?” I asked.
“Yes, that is where they go for Supervision.”
“What is it? What do they supervise?” I asked eagerly.
“Machines. They all take turns going there. Except me. I have never been to Supervision."
“You mean that your people supervise the work that goes on over there in that smoking beehive?” “Yes. That is what they do.”
I put that away for future digestion. I could not quite reconcile a good many things I had seen. In the meanwhile, there was another interesting point.
“How does it happen that you are an exception, and that you do not have to do supervising?” I asked.
“I seem to be specially favored on account of my grandfather. He invented and made those machines. He owns all this country and the cities. He brought me up differently than the others have been brought up. He taught mo things about the great world in which you are struggling so hard to be something. But there are still many things that I would like to know, and he thinks I am still a small child and that I cannot understand.”
“I’ve got to see that place,” I finally said. “I am going over there to look it over.”
She regarded me for a moment in horrified silence.
“I knew you would ! It is just like you!” She stepped back and looked me over gravely. “But you mustn’t go!” “Well, well. Why not?”
“Why!” she gasped. "That is a terrible thing to do!” “I’ve gone into other cities, as black and smoky as that one. It all washes off when you come out.”
“But I can't let you go ” She hesitated and
stopped ; and then put her hand on my sleeve and looked at me appealingly. This, of course, stirred my de- termination tenfold. I would have gone through the fires of hell for that, and for the brown eyes looking up at me, and the little quiver around. tlie corners of the mouth.
“Yet, you wouldn’t think much of me if I didn’t go, would you?" I demanded, with what I felt to be a sheepish grin.
“We cannot stand here and argue,” she said sternly. “It’s time to go home and eat. Come.”
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“Wait,” I urged. “We’ve got a lot to say yet; at least I have. If hunger is your only reason for going back, leave it to me. That’s an old problem with me.”
She looked at me dubiously.
"We’ll have to get down to the ground, though. Lead the way down.”
In silence she led the way down the path, among the sand and boulders, and in her attitude I read some annoyance but more wonderment and curiosity. When we had clambered down to the level ground, we dis- tinguished Sappho standing at the side of the road, near the dock, waiting to take us home.
‘‘Sappho will have to be patient and wait for us,” I remarked jocularly, pleased with my little fancy of personifying the machine. Mildred tossed her head and said nothing.
My idea was first to look about and see if there was any prospect of catching some fish to make a lunch on. I looked carefully through my pockets, through the car, over the dock, and along the shore, but found nothing that would serve as either hook or line, or as a spear. So, I turned to the forest, which was much more in my line ; I felt confident that there I could find something to eat. A walk of a hundred yards brought us to the dense growth of underbrush and tangled vines at the edge of it. I asked Mildred to wait for me near the road.
"And do not be afraid if you hear me shoot,” I added.
“Oh, I know about shooting. Grandfather has some rifles and has taught me how.”
My training with the Texas Rangers had taught me to proceed through a thicket with scarce a sound. I kept my eyes open for edible plants; and my ears told me of small animals moving about near me. After I had Bquirmed along for a dozen yards, I found the growth more open; so I got out my pistol and looked around. I chuckled at the ridiculousness of it — shooting rabbits with a pistol firing a bullet as big as my thumb. Ahead of me was a large hollow log, big enough to afford a hiding place from which I might take a shot at some passing creature that looked promising as a luncheon. I Btepped into it, and there was a sudden flurry and a number of diminutive grunts; something brown wrig- gled at my feet. Mechanically, I brought down the butt of my pistol heavily upon it, before my consciousness had time to figure out what it might be. It squirmed and kicked a few times and lay still.
I dragged it out into the light. It was as big as a large rabbit, but looked rather like an awkward squirrel, with a curved snout like a pig. I had never seen any- thing like it before ; but I was sure from my general knowledge of game that it was good to eat.
“An agouti!” said Mildred when she saw it. "Poor little fellow.”
I was very much amused by her expression as she watched me build a fire, skin the animal, cut it in con- venient pieces and roast them on spits of green branches. At first she was somewhat disgusted by the proceeding; but that soon gave way to a fascinated in- terest, and at the end her hunger compelled her to watch the browning and savory pieces with considerable eager anticipation. Before we had finished eating, and taken our fill of water from a stream which she showed me, she was quite transported with delight. This was a totally new experience for her, and obviously a delight- ful one.
For me there was also some satisfaction in it. It was some consolation for the awkwardness which I felt among these people, to know that I could look after myself in a pinch and that this flower of an exalted civilization was to some extent dependent on me; that she considered me some sort of a hero.
When luncheon was over, we turned back up toward
the Gulls’ Nest, with an unspoken mutual understanding. That was the only place where free talk was possible.
“Now tell me,” I said, as soon as I could get my breath on the concave top of the cliff, “whom do I see to ar- range about going over there?”
“But you don’t understand,” she said in a voice that almost had tears in it. “There is no way to arrange to go there. There is no one to see.”
“Humph!” I grunted. “That means I’ll just have to pick up and go. It looks like a long walk. Will you help me some more in learning how to run a car?”
“I’ll go with you and I’ll drive it for you !” she cried, with a sudden earnest inspiration.
“You’re a little brick!” I exclaimed; and, to my own astonishment, I detected a warm tone in my voice that I had never heard there before.
She stared at me a moment and then burst out laugh- ing. It was my turn to stare.
‘Til never get used to your queer ways of putting things,” she said. “Little brick! I’m a little brick! Please say Borne more things like that.”
“So you’d like to go with me?” I pondered aloud. “No. That won’t do. There must be some sort of dan- ger there. If I knew what it was we might consider your going. But I'll be back soon."
“You must not tell anyone that you are going ”
“You mean they might try to prevent me?” I asked incredulously.
“No. But you have no idea how vulgar the machines seem to them. It must be kept so secret that I must tell you good-bye and wish you good luck here and now. We can’t down there.”
She held out a little hand to me.
I looked down into the big brown eyes turned up to mine, and the world went round and round with me. Slowly, very slowly, my arm stole round her shoulders and another round her waist. Slowly our heads drew together. She was so still that she seemed not to breathe. Her eyes closed and her head lay back on my arm. Slowly I kissed those soft red lips, whose smiles I had watched so often playing round the sunny teeth. While the waves roared below and the great birds soared above, I once more held that little body close to me, and with great calmness, as though I had a thousand years to do it in, I kissed her. My whole world was changed by that one long kiss.
"I love you !” I whispered.
She opened her eyes and looked up at me with an expression of radiant happiness; her hair and eyes and the curve of her cheek gave a sort of melting impres- sion, and then she buried her head in my shoulder. "That means you’re mine forever?”
Her head nodded "yes” without looking up.
"And that you’re going back to my world with me?” "I want to do that above everything else, Davy, dear.” She looked up at me and her arms went about my neck. "I want to get out of this empty, useless life.”
“You were very beautiful last night,” I whispered.
“I tried to look pretty for you. Did you guess that?”
ALL at once time seemed to have stopped for us. It l\ seemed that but a few moments had passed when it occurred to me to look at my watch. It was late in the afternoon ! Mildred looked worried.
“We must hurry,” she exclaimed. “Grandfather will be dreadfully worried about us. Come. That was a wonderful good-bye.”
So, with my arm about her, we started for the path that led down the cliff.
“Be very careful, Davy dear, that nothing happens to you,” she said in a low, earnest voice. "You are my whole world and life to me now.”
“What could happen?”
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"I don’t know. But they have already gotten many people and we have never seen them again.”
“There!” I said triumphantly. “That is my reason for going there. I want to solve the mystery. What happens to all of your people?”
“Yes,” she agreed ; “I am so anxious to know that I
am willing to let you go ” She stopped suddenly,
with a catch in her breath.
There stood Kaspar, panting heavily from climbing up the path. We dropped apart and stood looking at him in embarrassment. He smiled.
“Bless your hearts, children; do not let yourself be disturbed by an old man like me. I was very much worried about you, however. So many things might happen. But this explains it.” There was a merry twinkle in his eyes.
“But what is that I hear, Davy, about your going somewhere?” he suddenly demanded in great earnest- ness. We confessed to my plan to visit the City of Smoke.
Ho stood for many minutes, gazing at me in silence, and his white-bearded face was inscrutable.
“As I remember the young men of the world which I left, when I also was young,” he mused, “there would be little use in my trying to talk you out of that. It is the same spirit that brought you to this island ; and now I am glad that you came. But why must you riBk your life unnecessarily, just as you have found happiness for yourself and given it to others? Listen: things are shaping up now so that it may soon be possible for you to take another kind of trip — back to your own country."
“That news,” I replied, “would not have interested me this morning as it does now.” I could not erase a broad smile of happiness from my face, nor could I resist a fond glance at Mildred. “But I must solve some questions before I leave this island.”
Kaspar shook his head.
“It is a great worry to load on an old man’s heart. Perhaps if you could think, as I can, of numerous others who have started out, as you wish to do, to learn the secrets of that grim City of Smoke and have never re- turned, you would think twice.”
“If the ones I have seen are fair samples, I do not wonder that they have never returned,” I sniffed con- temptuously. “I don’t get paralyzed every time I see a machine, and lie down and let it carry me off.”
Kaspar put his hand on my shoulder and said earn- estly:
“Then wait until I have shown you something in the City of Beauty that you have not yet seen. Tomorrow I shall take you with me to see some people whom you will respect more than those you have already met. I have been watching and studying you from the first time I saw you. Now I know you are qualified to enter the Circle. Will you promise to wait for twenty-four hours?"
I promised.
CHAPTER VII I Become a Rebel
I SPENT many hours in a species of intoxication. My head was light with the joy of what had happened. Suddenly, unexpectedly, within a few days, some- thing beautiful had come into my life that stirred me and made me restless with a fire that I had never known before.
So, for the first time since I had been on the island, I awoke quite late in the morning. Kaspar and Mil- dred were already waiting for me. I looked wonder- ingly and inquiringly at them, with their hats on, as
though ready for a journey, and at Sappho waiting out in front. Mildred bade me good morning with a warm light in her eyes that sent my composure whirl- ing head over heels.
“Today we are taking you to a certain Committee Meeting,” Kaspar explained.
I had forgotten all about that. I started, as I felt an embarrassed flush spread over my face; for the thoughts of Mildred and our newly discovered love had driven all else out of my mind.
"I — I — I’m sorry if I kept you waiting very long,” I apologized.
“There is no hurry," Kaspar said, with his kind, pa- triarchal smile. “In my opinion you are eminently excusable for forgetting such a trivial thing as a Com- mittee Meeting under the circumstances.”
“And what sort of ?” I began.
Kaspar held up a warning finger.
“I must remind you that we dare not say too much,” he admonished. “Here we never know when the slight- est whisper may be picked up and carried over a wire!”
Again that sudden jolt! How many times already, just as I was beginning to feel that the island was a paradise of civilized progress and beauty, came that sudden, sinking hint of some terrible, overpowering thing hanging over it all!
This elaborate secrecy, and these hints of a “Com- mittee” told me that even in the City of Beauty, among these fair and talented children of joy, there were things going on that were not apparent on the surface.
Soon the city was far behind us. The river was our companion on the left; and on our right was a broad, flat, green stretch, as carefully tended and well kept as the finest of lawns. I enjoyed its level, peaceful, soli- tary beauty.
“What is this? A golf course?” I inquired.
“This is the Hopo course," Mildred explained. "No one plays until afternoon. Then you will see many horses and riders. It is half a mile wide and ten miles long.”
“It must take an immense amount of labor to keep it looking as neat and smooth as this,” I suggested.
“The machines attend to it. There are a great many special mowing and rolling machines caring for the Hopo field.”
She seemed to dismiss all concern about it quite read- ily from her mind, taking the fact for granted that the responsibility was to be unloaded upon the machinery. My mind kept dwelling on the vastness of the work re- quired to keep these thousands of acres as green and cropped and flat as the trimmest lawn in front of a residence. I would have liked to see the machinery that did it.
MILE after mile we drove. At first the fresh green- ness was pleasant, but eventually it began to seem endless and monotonous. However, the girl at my side would have kept the desert of Sahara from seeming monotonous. Then, quite suddenly, we stopped.
We hadn’t arrived anywhere. At some time we had left the road, and now on all sides of us were endless flat, green stretches. On the east and west, the green- ness merged into the horizon; no City of Beauty was visible. On the north was the gleaming blue river far in the distance; and on the south the difference in color of the verdure indicated that there must be cultivated fields some distance from us. Beyond these, a dim, purple line on the horizon, was the forest. We dis- mounted from the car and I stared about in surprise. However, I was beginning to learn to say little and observe much.
Kaspar sent the car back. Never would I get over the wonder of it, though now I was seeing it every day :
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a few twists of the dials, and the machinery began to hum in rhythmic cadences of change, while the empty car swung about, turned backward toward the city, and sped away, dwindling to a small dot in the distance. As we watched it depart we saw several other ears ap- proaching.
In the meanwhile I pondered on the reasons for send- ing the car back. Why could it not stand here and wait until they were ready to go back? Wasn’t it a waste of fuel and machinery? The idea of waste did not seem to occur to anyone here at all. The wealth of natural resources and the vast available mechanical facilities were utilized lavishly and riotously, without a thought of economy. And I began to attach some suspicion to the car itself.
We started out on foot, continuing in the direction in which we had driven. There were dark figures of people ahead of us; they looked infinitely tiny in the vast spaces. Before long we made out a considerable group of them; as we drew near, I decided that there must be about fifty persons gathered together and as many more coming on behind.
"It is now Bafe to talk as we wish,” Kaspar began.
I looked about me and decided in my mind that the factor that made it safe was the fact that nowhere was there any machinery in sight, nor any possibility of concealed wires, microphones, periscopes or cameras. Nothing but flat lawn and sky. Kaspar continued :
"However, just now there won’t be time to explain things to you fully. And they must be explained fully, or you would neither understand nor believe them. I am planning on finding a time and a place at which this can be done; I shall make revelations that will astound you. We cannot waste the time of those people talking about things that are familiar to them.”
"I note that most of these people are strangers to me,” I observed.
"You have heretofore met only those that live in our section of that city and whom we meet almost daily. The people present here are from all over the city. They constitute a committee of such few of us as have re- tained the power of independent thinking. I might term it a Revolutionary Committee.”
"And do they always meet here?” I asked.
"There is no regular meeting place. We change from one to another, with a view to safety and secrecy. This place is good because we can see the approach of any vehicle from a long distance, and long before anyone observing us can guess what we are about.”
People recognized and greeted the Kaspars con- stantly, and I could not help remarking the respectful deference that was paid to the old man. There were a few women in the group. By far the most of the per- sons were men of past middle age, with a good sprink- ling of the very aged, as was Kaspar. Young men of my age and younger were relatively scarce, but I saw a few. I was presented to a great many of the people. All of them seemed keenly interested in me, listened in- tently to the peculiarities of my speech as compared with theirs, and looked me over with a great deal of curiosity. But they all greeted me warmly and seemed glad to have me present.
New arrivals continued to appear for a quarter of an hour and then the vast stretches of lawn in all direc- tions were clear. The people gravitated together with- out any signal, and the meeting began. They sat in rows on the grass, quite close together, making a com- pact group, a tiny clump in the midst of the vaBt green distances. I was not surprised to see the place of the presiding officer filled by the burly figure of Cassidy. He called the meeting to order in a low tone of voice.
“We cannot proceed with any business,” he began, "until all present are satisfied as to the eligibility of a
new person among us. John Kaspar will introduce
Kaspar rose and beckoned to me. He led me up to the front, beside Cassidy. He turned and addressed the assemblage:
“For our struggle against the encroaching domina- tion of the City of Smoke, we have in our ranks much experience and wisdom, but we are sadly lacking in youth and daring. When I think of the young people of this island chasing shadows and losing all spirit of self-determination my heart grows heavy. Here is a young man from the Outside, the grandson of a boy- hood chum of mine. We need him among us. From the moment that I first saw him I have watched him closely, telling him nothing, but keeping him on proba- tion. Every step of the way he has demonstrated his courage and his quick-witted self-reliance. In our des- perate stand against the mechanical powers he will be a valuable ally.”
He went on and told of how I had followed him and gained my way aboard the yacht; of my rescue of Mil- dred on the dock, at which there were horrified gasps, and a girl sitting near Mildred, similarly clad in gray- brown, put both arms around her; of my escape from the car speeding toward the City of Smoke; and of my stand against the machine that had abducted Ames, at which there was a good deal of nodding of gray- haired and white-bearded heads in admiring approval.
Then Cassidy spoke:
"I shall also vouch for him and I am proud to have him present. I wish he were my own son.”
HE paused a moment in thought. I wondered if it were because his own child could certainly not be classod as mentally capable of taking part in the move- ment represented in this meeting.
"And wo need him," Cassidy continued. "Our ranks ought to be increasing but they are growing thinner. We lose our members faster than we get new ones. Only three days ago Houchins junior disappeared; they got him as they got his father before him. Out of all of the thousands in the city, it is hard to find new re- cruits for our ranks. The people are being put to sleep by comfort and luxury; and their souls are being taken away, as well as their bodies. Davy Breckenridge will be valuable to us, not merely because of his youth and daring, but also because of his knowledge and experi- ence. In his own country he has done valiant deeds, and he has had a training in the practical needs of tasks such as we have set ourselves.”
Then he put to vote the question as to whether I should be accepted into the group. The vote was enthu- siastic in my favor; hands went up 'and people shouted “Aycl” Then he turned to me.
"The will of the assembly is that you be one of us, and I welcome you.” He held out his hand.
“I'm sure that I appreciate the honor very much,” I Baid hesitatingly ; “but before I know what to do about it, I shall have to understand what it is all about." Kaspar Bpoke.
"Pending the time when I can take you up to the secret little meeting-place that you know about, and tell you the long and complex story that is involved, let me ask you if you can see sufficiently with your own eyes the decadence and blindness of the present generation, the increase in power and terror of the machines, and the certain doom ahead of our poor people unless some- thing desperate is done? Do you not feel willing to help and wait for explanations until they are possible?” "Yes,” I replied; “I have seen enough to know that something is wrong, and that some sort of help is needed. I am devoured with curiosity to know what it is; I am kept awake nights wondering about it. Yet
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I see the wisdom of your reasons. At least I can say that I am very much interested.”
"Besides,” Kaspar said, “you, yourself, are in con- siderable danger. By your very act of following me on board the ship, then by your deeds that night in the dock, and again on the river with the logs, and above all, that night at the