# The Diothas, or, A Far Look Ahead/Chapter 10

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By the time we reached home—for so I already began to regard my new abode—it was time for the mid-day collation. As was the case with the early four-o'clock breakfast, all the members of the household do not necessarily meet at this meal. Each enters the dining-room when convenient, to partake, as may seem fit, of what is provided in the compartments of the ever serviceable cebin. In this way the whole time between nine in the morning and six in the evening is at the free disposal of each.
After this informal repast, where we did, however, exchange a few words with the ladies of the house, Utis carried me off to his indoor retreat, a combination of study and workshop. Here was a workbench of ingenious mechanical construction, a lathe, and various tools adapted for delicate operations on glass or metal. From these articles, of which I had but little knowledge, I soon turned my attention to the contents of the book-cases. The number of volumes was not great,—about a thousand, besides a cyclopædia in one hundred volumes.
"You see before you," said Utis, noting the direction ​of my eyes, the distilled quintessence of the learning and genius of twelve thousand years."
"It seems but a small space to contain so much," said I doubtfully, calling to mind the immense libraries of London and Paris.
"I fully appreciate your doubt. But each volume represents a choice classic or a standard authority on some one subject."
"Yet, as I understood you," said I, "your family has been settled in this place for about thirty-two centuries. Surely, during that period a much greater number of books than this would accumulate, almost unavoidably."
"Your remark is just. But, in the first place, these are not all the books the house contains. There is a fair collection of works of reference in your room; the ladies have their special library; there is also a separate collection for the children. In the next place, even these collections are the result of a literary struggle for existence extending over long periods.
"The first hundred volumes or so, on the upper shelves, represent the world-classics, down to the twentieth century, the best of each great name comprised in a single volume. Life is too short for becoming acquainted with any but the very best. The next four hundred volumes represent the classics that have appeared since the twentieth century. All the rest are standard works of reference.
"The classics, as you see, are mostly old,—those on the upper shelves very old; though the bindings are comparatively new, since they must be renewed every few centuries. As for the works of reference, as soon as one ​is superseded by a later and better work, it is relegated to the shelves of the great depository."
"What is this depository?" inquired I, seeing him about to pass on without explanation.
"At a comparatively early period," said he, "men outgrew the childish folly of lumbering their abodes with antique rubbish. The depository is an immense fireproof building, where are preserved such culls from private libraries as are not already on its list. There they are catalogued and compactly arranged in departments by a librarian and his corps of assistants."
"Such a collection must be extensive," I remarked.
"Yes: in spite of reselections, repeated every cen- tury, the number of works will grow. It now amounts to something over a hundred millions. Besides this central library, each State possesses a more manageable collection of a million volumes, or so. The central depository is consulted chiefly for very special researches. Your father spent many an hour there, examining a unique collection of documents bearing on the nineteenth century. Here are two volumes of his works, which it is difficult for me to imagine as not familiar to your eyes."
As may be supposed, the work referred to was viewed by me with feelings of lively interest. Numberless ques- tions occurred to me. But I had already encroached so much on my host's time, that I felt ashamed to ask more. I begged, accordingly, for a loan of the above-mentioned volumes, and carried them off to my room.
Scarcely had I seated myself to a perusal of the work, when the recognized signal called me to the telephone. ​There the voice of Ialma greeted my ears, reminding me of my promise to assist her and Reva in that game of chess. To tell the truth, the matter had not once recurred to my mind. But such a summons must be obeyed.
"I quite forgot about the game when I last saw you," said Ialma apologetically, when I entered the parlor. "I have been anxious to see you ever since, but have only now been informed by Utis that you are at liberty. If you can give us any help, it must be to-day; since the reply to Olav's last move must be sent by six o'clock, and it is now three.
"Utis," she continued, as we seated ourselves at the chess-table, "was, at one time, a champion player, hut gave it up as too engrossing. Reva coaxed him to look. over our game, but he gives us very little encouragement."
She produced the record, and played over the moves, while I looked on in silence.
"That is hazardous before a first-class opponent," I remarked at last, in reference to a certain move.
"It was Reva's suggestion," said Ialma, "and struck me as a brilliant attack."
"Brilliant it is," said I, "but not sound. Yet an ordinary player would almost certainly be disconcerted by it. This is the plan," continued I, while I played a few moves in advance.
"Exactly as Reva played it over to me!" exclaimed Ialma, in some surprise.
"But this is the retort to which you lay yourself open," I said, after replacing the pieces as before, and playing another series of moves.
"Wonderful!" she exclaimed. "Except the last, these are the very moves that have been played."
​"What was that move?" I inquired, replacing the pieces. "That is excellent," said I, after careful study of the indicated move, "stronger, even, than that suggested by me. I am really afraid"—
"Do not say there is no hope!" said Ialma, with mingled feelings of pleasure at my praise of Olay's play, and dismay at the prospect of inglorious defeat. "Reva will feel greatly mortified."
Had she, with a woman's insight, already perceived that Reva was a name she could employ on me to conjure with? At all events, I studied the situation with renewed attention. I was, besides, anxious, in my peculiar position, to stand well in at least one subject, and that, as it seemed, of general interest. Yet there seemed but one possible issue to the contest. Regretfully I rose, to announce this as my decision, when, as I stood giving a last look to the board, the solving idea suddenly flashed upon me. Yes,—the apparently insignificant advance of that pawn would convert defeat into victory.
"You see some way?" said Ialma, who had approached to learn my decision, and marked the expression on my countenance as I reseated myself.
I was about to reply, when something caused me to look up. There, in the doorway, stood Reva, her lips parted in eager expectation.
"You have succeeded!" she exclaimed, as she advanced into the apartment, and took her stand beside Ialma.
"I think so," said I quietly. "Have you any notion as to what the next move will be?"
"I think I have tried over every feasible move," was ​the reply. "I sat up late to no purpose, and was on my way to seek other advice, when you so kindly came to my assistance. You must excuse my hasty departure; but time was precious, and I little suspected you were to prove the rescuer.
"That is a strange move," she remarked dubiously.
"You must be checkmated in a few moves."
"On the contrary," said I, "whatever reply is made, I am in position to force mate within four moves."
"How do you reply to that?" said she, capturing my queen, and giving check.
My unexpected reply to her move crowded her game, and led to the predicted mate.
"Magnificent!" exclaimed Reva with sparkling eyes.
"Yet, though the most obvious, there are other moves."
I soon satisfied her that the move referred to was the best as well as the most obvious. The moves duly noted, the conversation was diverted into other channels. Though rarely joining in the conversation,—it was, indeed, seldom safe for me so to do,—I was an excellent listener,—a qualification that experience has taught me is, by no means, the least adapted for securing good will to its possessor. This habit of mine, adopted at this time, though sorely against my will (how often has a question, trembling on my tongue, been kept back, solely from the fear of exciting surprise!),—this enforced taciturnity of mine gained for me a most undue reputation for wisdom. My brief and cautiously worded replies were listened to with a respect that to me bordered on the ludicrous.
The conversation on this occasion was presently interrupted by the return of the children from school. They ​seemed delighted to see their cousin Reva. Eured, especially, hung on her, recounting the wonderful events of the school-day. Presently he said to me,—
"I saw you pass the school to-day." Then, with the inconsequence of childhood, "Reva must be very fond of you."
"What makes you think that?" inquired I, as calmly as might be, of this enfant terrible. As for Reva, I could not see her face. She had stooped to arrange something about the boy's sandal.
"She let you have her curricle," was the reply, uttered in a tone of conviction. "She would not let me go out in it by myself, though I love her very much."
"It was I, on the contrary, let her have my new curricle. Come and see it," I added, willing to effect a diversion, and went out with the children.
Reva remained to dinner. This was of much the same character as, but showed a pleasant variation from, that of the previous day. While we were sitting after dinner, a telephone-call sounded. The signal being answered, a voice, that of Olay, was heard.
"I have been studying your last move. Does it signify that you give up the game?"
"No!" replied Reva energetically.
"Oh! you are there," came the reply. "May I play on a move or two?"
"As many as you please, or can," was the answer of the lively girl.
The next move communicated by him was the one we expected. The retort immediately sent back was followed by a considerable delay. At last came the words,—
​"I give up."
Some further conversation ensued between him and Reva, by which it appeared that Olay was to set out on the following day from Valparaiso on his return journey. Ialma presently retired to her room to hold some telephonic communication on her own account. Reva made a calculation, that by taking a certain route, and travelling in his curricle at the rate of two hundred and forty miles a day, her brother would reach home in four weeks.
Of the remainder of the evening, till the withdrawal of the ladies, I recall but little beyond the sayings and doings of Reva Diotha, the recital of which might not particularly interest the general reader.