8.

wriggling about the floor, wagging its tail, and
barking hoarsely.

Now, he said, you will see something very
interesting; he went quickly to his desk, and
opening a drawer took from it a small bottle; at
once the curious scent in the room deepened. From
the bottle he lifted a tiny, round, transparent
pill, the like of which the man of Science had
never seen before; it seemed to be made of light,
and glowed and sparkled like an opal. What is it?
cried the man of Science.

Christopher Krauss smiled. It is the door into
the fourth dimension, he said. It is made of the
rarest of all drugs, treated with the red ray; when
swallowed it influences the vibrations of the cells,
retarding the intensity of the vibration wave almost
to a zero, and intensifying the speed of the wave
until it is greater than any known light.

The Professor of Applied Science started for the
door. That is what comes of things, he said; but
Christopher Krauss ran after him, and held him back.
Come, come, he dried, You must see for yourself.

But this is nonsense, murmured the other man,
yet he let himself be pulled back into the room.

Christopher Krauss whistled, and when the puppy
came, bounding over to him, he caught hold of it, and
lifted the animal onto the table, where it stood,

9.

wagging its tail, and blinking. The chemist threw
his arms wide apart and then clasped his hands
behind him, and so walked up and down the room,
very impressive and dignified, until he came to a
stop at last before his friend. In a moment, he
said, I shall send that dog into tomorrow.

His friend only stared at him; so Christopher
Krauss, of a sudden taking hold of the puppy and
forcing wide its jaws, pressed the glowing pill
into its mouth. The dog squirmed and shut its jaws,
was released, and stood a moment in a sort of
amazement, swallowing, and wagging its tail. Then,
suddenly, the dog began to disappear.

Angels and ministers of grace - cried the
Professor of Applied Science.

The puppy grew dimmer and dimmer; the head
disappeared entirely, and then the shoulders; the body
faded off, until at last only the tail was left wagging
in space, where it remained, lone and merry; it did
not disappear. Christopher Krauss frowned. Evidently,
he said, the pill was not big enough. Yet that is
very strange. He walked up and down the room with
nervous strides, muttering to himself, but his friend
did not hear him, and stood staring as one bereft of
reason at that gaily wagging tail, with nothing to
wag it.

10.

Soon, said Christopher Krauss, The dog will be
back. The pill was small, or it may have lacked - . . .
so he will be gone only a short while ahead of us.
We shall catch up to him in a moment.

And in truth, even as he spoke, where there had
been nothing, there was the thin shadow of a dog's
body, growing fuller and deeper and stronger, until
at last, there was the dog again.

Christopher Krauss clapped his hands and laughed.
Well, he asked, turning to his friend, but the Professor
of Applied Science shut his eyes and stumbled out of the
room, down the stairs, and so, home, where he took to
his bed.

Two weeks later the Krausses sat at lunch discussing,
as was the wont of Mrs. Krauss, the frailties of folk.
I do not know of a more stupid man, she was saying to
her husband, than your friend the Professor of Applied
Science. And his wife! What a cat!

At that very moment, in dim shadow the head of a
huge maltese cat appeared upon the table, just above
the centerpiece; the mouth was open, grinning faintly,
so that the effect was ludicrously like the appearance
of the famous Cheshire Cat to Alice. Mrs. Krauss
gasped and the breath went out of her body; she
shut her eyes and said nothing; when she opened them
again the shadow of the entire cat was clear, and she
gave a faint shriek. Her husband looked up at that,
and followed the line of her shivering finger.

11.

Ah, said Christopher Krauss, Two weeks. I must multiply by fifty two thousand. The devil.

When the maid came in to set the desert on the table, she found growing under her affrighted hands the ghost of a cat, from shadow to phantom, from phantom to ghost, from ghost to reality. Screaming as though the witches were after her, she fled through the kitchen, leaving her mistress in a dead faint on the floor, and Christopher Krauss excitedly scribbling numbers upon the table cloth.

When the inredulous constable arrived, hours later, led by the trembling girl, Mrs. Krauss was in bed with a doctor and a nurse in attendance, and the professor was in his den. The constable clumped up the stairs and summarily rapped on the professor's door.

Well? Called Christopher Krauss in a thin voice, Well?

You will have to come out, sir, he heard from the other side of the door, There's a warrant out against you for . . . . assault and battery, with malicious intent upon . . . the person of Eliza Relish, with a cat.

Go to the devil, dried Christopher Krauss, And do not disturb me with your foolishness.

The constable tried the door, but finding it locked, clumped downstairs again to go for assistance,

["12.", "followed by Eliza Relish. In an hour he was back, with\ntwo burly policemen, and before the professor's door\nagain.", "You'd better come out, sir, he called loudly,\nOr I'll knock down the place.", "Knock away, cried the professor airily, and the\nthree men launched themselves at the door until it\ncracked and splintered and they fell into the room,\nfollowed by the injured Relish. Scrambling to their\nfeet, they looked wildly about them for Christopher\nKrauss. There he is, cried one, lunging at a form\nthat seemed to vanish as he looked, and when he came\nto grasp it there was nothing there at all. The three\nmen stared at each other in dismay, when to their\nhorror, far off and clear, distant not in space but\nin time, not a sound remembered from the past, but\na sound anticipated in the future, heard, yet\nimagined, unearthly and remote, pealed a light laugh\nfrom the center of the room, growing fainter and\nfainter, and finally dying away altogether. There was\nno sound for a moment, and then very very far off a small\nvoice said, What on earth? and was suddenly still.\nThen silence.", "What did I tell you, cried poor Eliza Relish,\nand fell straightway into a fit of hysterics.", ":kokokokokokokokokokokokokokokokokokok

13.

CHAPTER 2.

I shall have to explain that What on earth.
When the professor took the glowing pill into his
mouth, for a moment or so nothing happened; he was
beginning to be worried at that when suddenly a
strange feeling of airiness grew in him, as though
he had turned suddenly into a long straight line
and were floating upwards; the straight line
began to spread out, to envelope, until it seemed to
him that he must be of the appearance of a mighty and
somehow potent pancake; that tickled his fancy, and
he laughed. The room grew dimmer and dimmer, fading
off into a sort of haze, a whitish light, until he
was absolutely alone in a great blaze of it, a light
so purely white that he had never imagined the like
of it before. That was all; there was no sense of
time or space, save that the entire light seemed
moving in a strong even current, bearing him with it,
though how he could be aware of its movement he could
not tell, since there was nothing to pass by. Then
it was that remembering Mr. Wells' description of the
man who travelled in the fourth dimension, and saw the

14.

days flap by him faster and faster until they became
only a grey smear, he uttered those words, What on
earth, which threw Eliza Relish into hysterics.

For a moment he was frightened, wondering if he
could have made some mistake, but in a sudden flash
of thought it occurred to him that without a doubt the
mistake lay with Mr. Wells' traveller, whom must have
imagined more ardently than wisely, for in the fourth
dimension the world of the third dimension would be
invisible, and so there would be neither sun nor
darkness, nor landscape, nor succession of days -
just as in the third dimension a plane without any
thickness can be only taken for granted, and not
even imagined.

A confused noise rose and fell about him, as
though he were passing it swiftly, from far off.
Through it occasionally, broke for the fraction of a
second some special, lovely sound, or a momentary
silence, but so immediately were they lost that he
could be sure of nothing. The familiar odor of his
room persisted; it died away and gave place to an
odor of paint; that, too, died away almost in no
time; there was a sharp sound, and the professor
had a sudden whiff of trees and flowers, then of
brick, then of pavement, then of steel; a curious
low whining reached his ears for the length of

15.

almost a minute; it was gone; there was the clipped
off sound of shouting, and then the odor of wood,
but the truth of the matter is that although the
odors persisted for a second or so, and were fairly
recognizable, the sounds were so very swift and con-
fused and run into one another as to give the effect
of a low hum, in which now and then it seemed to
the professor that he could distinguish some familiar
sound. He felt as though life were flowing backward
beneath him like a turbulent mill race.

Then for awhile the noise about him fell away
until it was only a soft purring drone; the occasional
silences grew until he thought he could almost detect
a certain regularity in their swift come and go, and
the odor of wood remained. I wonder when I am, thought
Christopher Krauss to himself. As he said it, he
noticed with excitement that the great river of light
seemed moving faster than he, as though he were being
left behind; the hum of sounds grew slower and slower,
began to break up into separate and uneven beats, into
clatter and clash; changing colors shone through the
blaze of light dimly, pale, growing deeper and surer;
the white light faded, turned to a haze again, and
poured past him faster and faster; faintly through it
he saw faces, heard voices, caught the shine of silver

16.

in candlelight, of white linen, of woodwork, with
the fog of the white river pouring over it, faster and
faster, fainter and fainter . . .

Well, said Christopher Krauss aloud, Whenever I
am, I'm here.

-6x2

Indeed, said the man at the head of the table,
I'm very glad to see you. He stood up and bowed
gravely at Christopher Krauss. Upon this happy
occasion, he continued, clearing his throat, looking
toward the ceiling, and standing first on one leg
and then upon the other, I am sure that we are all of
us sensibly glad, sensibly proud . . . and when the
dark storm clouds of war . . . Hush, said a voice . . .
To welcome to our midst . . . to our midst one who,
inspired no less . . .

You've forgotten it, said the woman at the far
end of the table. The man looked at her apologetically.
I knew it very well last week, he said.

There was rather an undecided silence at that,
in which nobody seemed to know just what to do. Finally

17.

the woman at the far end of the table leaned over and peered at Christopher Krauss intently. He's very thin, isn't he, she remarked.

I doubt he could cut down a very big tree, the man said, Or stop an unusually large leak, but I imagine he has some peculiar advantages of his own.

I hope he has conversation, said the woman.

The professor rose unsteadily to his feet. My name, he began, taking a deep breath ...

Is Christopher Krauss, said the girl whom he found sitting at his side; That isn't conversation.

The professor stared at her in amazement. In the year nineteen hundred and seventeen, he began again ...

O I say, you know, cried the man in an aggrieved voice, that was part of my speech.

The professor sat down and rubbed his eyes.

I do believe I remember some of it, the man said happily; there was nineteen hundred and seventeen and then a very difficult part, and then it went on: To you, having come through the fortunes and circumstances of two thousand years ...

Two thousand years . . . the professor jumped up from his seat, and giving voice to the most unimaginable crew, began to dance solemnly about the table.

Now I've forgotten it again, said the man.

Look at him, said the woman; you couldn't possibly call it conversation, but isn't it curious.

16.

The professor, however, stopped dancing all at once, and stood looking very dejected. You never can prove it, he said sadly.

The girl laughed merrily. There were two constables, she said, And a cat.

Why, so there were, said the professor, startled.

Of course there were, answered the girl calmly; It's all in the Book of Expected Happenings. I had it in my fourth year of reading for Simple chance, and then again in Advanced Speeches to Strangers.

Oh, said the professor more startled than ever, and then there was a silence, in which he made shift to look about him at these curious folk who knew him and had been expecting him, and on whom he had come so suddenly.

The room, of wood all scrolled and carved, was lighted only by candles; they threw their reflection upon chairs and cupboards, and a side board so very much finer than anything the professor had even imagined, that he could think of nothing to compare with it. In the center of the room was a great table, and it was at this table that the professor found himself, while about him were grouped his unanticipated hosts.

In the first place, there was the man at the head of the table, lean, bearded, looking very hearty and kindly, as though he had spent most of his life out of doors, with a large, crooked nose, and a great Adam's apple, and huge, weather beaten hands.

19.

Then there was the woman at the foot of the table,
plump, maternal, shrewd, ruddy cheeked and twinkling;
the girl in her late teens, slender and eager; a
boy in his first teens, solemn and open mouthed, and
another woman, sober and gray. They were all dressed
rather like the people of the professor's own time,
except that their clothes were very much softer,
and hung about them in gentle folds, and were,
besides, faintly toned in color, Almost, thought
the professor, As though they liked them, or had a
theory about them.

I suppose, the man remarked a bit uncertainly, That
we ought to be introduced. Have you any friends?

I did have, said the professor doubtfully.

Think of somebody you used to know, suggested the
man kindly.

Well, said Christopher Krauss, There was the Professor
of Applied Science.

No doubt I should have known him too, said the man,
Very intimately. He indicated the folk at the table
with a wave of his hand. This is my family, he said;
My wife, my daughter, my son; and my wife's friend,
Kettle.

Kettle? asked the professor, grasping feebly at
a name.

You needn't call her that if you have something
better, said the girl But we all call her Kettle . . .

20.

rather for her looks, you know.

If you don't mind, murmured Christopher Krauss,
I'd rather call her by her name.

What name did you say? asked the man, as though
he hadn't heard aright.

Why, said the professor, I m sure I don't know.
The name she was born with, I suppose.

People aren't born with names, said the man
kindly; Names happen among friends. You could call
her Spiggot, if you like.

Then, cried the professor, There are people without
names?

I never heard of anyone yet, said the man gently,
Without a friend to call him something.

But how do you name children? asked the professor.

How can we, answered the man, Until they have
turned out? They might turn out entirely different.

And, cried the professor, What do you call the
people you don't know?

It ought to be obvious, remarked the man, that if
you don't know them, there's no need to call them at
all. But if you do know them, why then you call them
whatever you please. My friends call me Ostracise.
My wife's cook calls her Skillet, although personally
I prefer Gladys - just as a name, you understand -
but cooks are very important. We call ours . . . Hush,

21.

said his wife, and at once the entire family folded
their hands and gazed solemnly up at the ceiling,
while a tremendous red-haired woman, very superior
and fine, came into the room and took away a large
bowl from the center of the table.

And have none of you then any names? asked
the professor aghast, And must I call you Ostriche
and your wife Skillet?

The man bent over toward him confidentially.
Would you call my wife Gladys? he whispered, a
bit wistfully, If it wouldn't be a trouble? Only
in private, of course, he added hastily.

No trouble at all, said the professor, and
added in a loud voice, Gladys.

At once every one at the table grew pale, and
there was an ominous and dreadful silence, a silence
whose pallid thickness seemed centered, somehow,
beyond the door through which the cook had come and
gone. Then there was a smashing of crockery in the
kitchen, followed by a deep voice booming Skillet,
Skillet, Skillet, over and over again.

Skillet closed her eyes, the man began to
tremble violently, while the girl and the boy
both slid out of their chairs and crouched under the
table. Finally there was one last dreadful smash
in the kitchen, one last shriek of Skillet, and

22.

then a sort of pallid peace. The man stopped trembling, Skillet opened her eyes, and the boy and the girl came up from under the table and sat in their chairs again, and every one smiled happily.

She won't have me called anything but Skillet, whispered the woman, Because she says it reminds her of her dead grandmother. Usually she's *much* more violent, and sometimes she comes in . . . then there's nothing to do but to talk French very, very fast.

French? whispered the professor; I should think you'd run away as fast as you could.

It's better than running away, answered Skillet, Because she can't follow us, you see. It puts us quite out of reach.

O, said the professor.

About names, began the man, in a low voice.

We've been without them ever so long, said the girl, Ever since the first century, A.S.

A.S.? asked the professor, still a bit timid, and inclined to speak not much above a whisper.

After Socialism, said the girl. When the poets and the craftsmen rose and they pulled down all the big steel factories, and shouted.

Yes, remarked the professor, It seems to me I heard that as I came. And with that, to his mortification, he yawned. But he *was* drowsy.

It must have been fine, said the girl. Then

23.

everyone was called Doe, and the group number, and
the personal number: Doe, 5th group, 1739. Odd
numbers were men, and number seven had certain
polygamous rights. Rather horrid, wasn't it.

Um, said the professor.

But we've changed all that, the girl rattled
on, Long ago. That is, all except the government
people. They have to have names, of course, poor
souls. Names and Hours. That is what is so terrible
about them.

Oh, said the professor again. He began to
feel very sleepy, and his eyes would keep closing
despite himself. What, he asked drowsily, May I
call you, my dear?

My friends call me Sweet Peep, she said simply.

I think, said Skillet from her end of the table,
that Krauss is going to fall asleep.

Never felt so wide awake in my life, mumbled
the professor.

You had better take him upstairs, she said to
her husband, and in the morning he can hear the
guest poem and you can sign him up at the Governor's,
and check up the dates, and get his opinion about
the country and all that.

The two men what up through the candle light of
the house to the tiny room which was to be the
professor's. Here the man left him, after courteously
wishing him a pleasant night's rest, and the

24.

professor, sinking down for a moment upon the edge of
his bed, felt himself to be so weary and so overpowered
with sleep, that he was hard put to undress himself
and fall into bed before slumber closed over his head
life a huge wave.

S. 3.

He woke in the bright sunshine, very stiff and
aching, to find the young son of the house gravely
regarding him from the doorway, sucking at his
thumb.

Good morning, said the professor, when he had
brought his scattered wits racing back two thousand
years, And what is your name, my little man?

I dunno, said the boy; They call me Bill, but
they're afraid I'm beginning to turn.

Into what? asked the professor.

But Bill became unaccountably smitten with
embarrassment, and made all haste to impart his
message, so the professor never found out what he
was beginning to turn into.

Sweet Peep says for you to come right down
to breakfast, he announced, Because she wants you

25.

to hear the guest poem read. She says she's done a
very good one.

O, groaned the professor as he jumped out of
bed, My old bones! He dressed himself with some
care, and as he did so, looked inquisitively around
him at his little room, and the fittings of it.
For instance, there was the bed, a deep, high
posted affair, fashioned of fine beams, hand tooled
after the most careful and deliberate fashion, pegged
in every part, hugely conceived and jealously pro-
portioned; he stood awhile before the dresser, admiring
the simple loveliness of the wood, here and there the
old fashioned touch of the workman, the thoughtful
choice of grain, the affection lavished upon the
making of this simple piece. The floor, the ceiling,
the walls, all of wood, the small chair by his bed,
bore evidence to the exacting art of the carpenter
and the cabinet maker, in whose house the professor
felt sure he must be; and more and more as he came
down the stairs and through the halls and the rooms
of the house, stopping to examine chairs and tables
and cabinets and cupboards, everything about him, cunningly
wrought in wood, so filled him with admiration and
pleasure that he could not help remarking on it to
his host, who smiled and nodded and looked at him
gratefully.

27.

Ostriche, who had been sitting back in his chair
during the reading, stamping his foot and nodding his
head according to the rythm, burst into loud applause
and looked proudly over at Christopher Krauss, as
though, thought the professor, for all the world he
were saying, That is my daughter, and very educated,
too, if I _dd_ say it. Sweet Peep looked anxiously
at the professor, who blushed a fiery red, and made a
great business of eating, but realizing, fortunately,
in time that some sort of acknowledgement was expected
of him, he rose and bowed and expressed himself as being
sensibly grateful of the honor, although, he was sorry
to say, no connoisseur in verse. Only Bill expressed
himself with any assurance.

Now, he said between mouthfuls, It's obscene.

Sweet Peep gasped. It's not, she cried wildly.

Indecencies, remarked Bill comfortably, Full of 'em.

At once the girl burst into tears. I took them all
out, she wailed. Her mother patted her hand soothingly.
Never mind, my dear, she said; It's just his frightfully,
rightfully conventional mind.

Symbols, mattered Bill darkly, — Symbols.

So breakfast was eaten in rather a constrained
silence, and they all got through as fast as they
could, folded their hapkins, rose and went out, until

26.

at last only the professor and his host were left
together at the table.

The man leaned over to the professor confidentially.
Did you think it was indecent, he asked a bit pathetically.

It didn't seem so to me, answered the professor
stoutly. But if there really are symbols, you know -
if there really are symbols - why then, there you are,
he finished up lamely.

That's just what the doctor always says, murmured
the Ostracne sadly.

The professor waved his hand reassuringly. No
doubt you could get him to disagree, he remarked
comfortably.

Do you think so? asked the man, brightening up,
but then his face fell. It wouldn't do, I'm afraid,
he added without much hope, He has no one to disagree
with.

He could disagree with you, said the professor
thoughtfully.

I'd rather have him disagree with you, said the
man, but the professor shook his head.

You're more used to him, he said; It might affect
me.

Well, said the man, It's very disagreeable. How-
ever, he added, rising to his feet, I must sign you up

29.

at the governor's, so come along.

The two men went out of doors and down a pretty
flowered walk to the street that was made all of wood.

Last night, said the professor, You spoke of
war . . . but here the carpenter suddenly jumped at
him and putting a large, calloused hand over his mouth,
effectively bottled up the rest of the sentence.

O I say, spluttered the professor, You didn't
have to do that, you know.

For all I can tell, said the carpenter solemnly,
You might have been just about to ask questions and give
away secrets, and then I should have had to beat you
and mash you and jump on you and kick you.

What a fearful war, murmured the professor.

The worst there is, said the man proudly; In
fact, he added, It's the only one of its kind; it was
rather a trouble to get, but we got it.

Still, said the professor looking around him, It's
very peaceful here, I'm sure.

It would be, of course, answered the man; That's
part of tactics, you know.

But I didn't see anyone doing anything, said the
professor in astonishment.

Tactics again, said the man; Nobody knows what
to do.

But aren't there soldiers and things? said the
professor.

30.

The carpenter stopped still in dismay. T Squares and Rulers! he exclaimed, If there were soldiers it wouldn't be a secret, would it, and if it weren't a secret the enemy would know about it, and if the enemy knew about it - if the enemy knew we were at war, he said very solemnly, and paused, - I don't know what would happen.

Hold on, cried the professor, If the enemy doesn't know there is a war, how can you fight with him?

We can't, of course, said the man, But that's all the better, isn't it?

It is rather an advantage, admitted the professor.

No end of an advantage, said the carpenter, To both sides.

How long do you think it will last? asked the professor.

There's no telling, said the man; In some parts of the country it always lasts longer than in others.

They get madder to begin with, he added as an after-thought.

They went on in silence, and as they walked along together, Christopher Krauss tried to reconstruct in his mind the street of the old college town, but it was well nigh unrecognizable, shadowed as it was with trees, and the pavement kept changing from wood to brick and back again in the most absurd sort of way.

31.

The professor was just about to ask his host why it wasn't all of a piece, when the carpenter uttered an exclamation of impatience, and pointed ahead of them to where a little bent figure of a man was busily engaged in covering the pavement with something that looked uncommonly like rubber.

Now really, said the carpenter, This is too bad. We've quoted him hard wood and quoted him brick, we've quoted him public opinion, and there he is covering his street with rubber again, And it bounces so when you're in a hurry.

Are you often in a hurry? asked the professor.

I said you, not I, said the carpenter, But it would, you know, if I were.

Then all of a sudden it occurred to the professor why the streets were made of brick and wood, and no two streets were alike, and no two houses were alike. Why, he said aloud, They're all hand made.

Were there no streets in your time? asked the carpenter kindly.

To be sure, said the professor, But all of a piece, you know, and made by one man.

He must have been very busy, said the carpenter; How ever did he find time for carpentery and plumbing and glass blowing and gardening and making shoes?

In my time, said the professor, A man only did one thing.

32.

It must have been very dull, answered the man,
And very unpleasant. I daresay your house was often
full of men you didn't know, doing things.

I dare say it was, said the professor vaguely.

There's a story, remarked the carpenter, That long
ago a man did only one thing, and then part of a thing,
and then part of a part of a thing, and men grew
lopsideder and lopsideder, and the lopsideder they
grew, theclower they crowded together, until wherever
there was one, there were hundreds.

I suppose that was after my time, said the pro-
fessor.

No doubt, said the carpenter; It took hundrede
and hundreds to do anything at all, even to build a
house, and as yau say one man used to make a whole
street in your time, no doubt you were much earlier.

But what I can't understand, he continued,
shaking his head, Is how you ever could have cancelled
your bills against each other.

We had a sort of clearing system for bills, said
the professor - Currency, and Banks, and so on.

Well, the man said, kindly, I've no doubt you
needed some very elaborate system. Ours is quite
simple.

How do you cancel a bill, asked the professor.

With an even bill, or a bigger one, was the
answer. Even bills destroy each other, Big bills
call in little bills.

33.

It's *very* simple, isn't it, said the professor,
but here they came suddenly opposite to a great prison
like structure of marble and granite, flanked with huge
columns, and guarded with a wide stone wall. The
man called Ostriche turned in at the gate, past two
very very fat constables who saluted him with some
respect, and led the way up a long flight of marble
steps to a massive bronze door. Here, he said,
turning to Christopher Krauss, is the governor's
pen.

I should call it a castle, Christopher Krauss
remarked.

Pen, said the man sternly, and went in through
the bronze door.

34.

CHAPTER 3.

What a strange place, said Christopher Krauss.
He was standing in the middle of an immense hall
stretching up to the very roof of the building; above
him circled tier on tier of succeeding balconies,
rimmed with rusted iron railings. The building was
like a house of the dead; under his feet greasy
yellow flagstones gave out a hollow echo as he
moved; the light was dim, and came from small,
unkempt windows. An atmosphere of immediate and drenching
gloom hung over the entire place, over the discolored
plaster busts falling apart in the recesses of the hall,
over the grimy lemon walls, the mouldy tablets of
bronze. An odor of decay haunted the place, decayed
smoke, decayed wood, plaster, decayed people; the air
was sluggish and heavy and chill, the echoes sombre and
depressing. A murmur of voices reached him; ten
black gowned men filed silently out of one room and
into another, and a voice was heard shouting con-
fusedly. Christopher Krauss shivered and followed
his host up the winding stairs.

35.

He was led into a large bare room, filled with a cold and shadowy light, where row upon row of thin bent figures pored over ledgers and papers. He passed through them, and into another, smaller room; on the floor was an old, threadbare rug, and at one end of the room, near the window, a tiny desk tremendously piled with papers, behind which sat a young woman with spectacles and bobbed hair that glinted in the light. The man called Ostriche led the way over to her, and stood before the desk, looking down at her.

Registry in Expected Happenings, he said crisply; The young woman pulled out an immense book from under her desk, and looked up expectantly. Yes? she asked.

Christopher Krauss, began the man, but no sooner had he uttered the name than the woman jumped as though she had been shot, and let the book slip down to the floor, where it landed with a bang. At once she became confused, and did not know quite what to do.

Well, she said at last, I needn't verify it. I know what page it's on. She handed Christopher Krauss a blank form, with hands that trembled slightly, looking at him all the while with curiously eager eyes. Fill this out, she said.

It took some little time for the professor to answer all the questions, and more than once he wasn't quite sure what to put down. His age gave him a

36.

moment or two of indecision, but he decided to eliminate the years spent travelling, and then he wasn't sure of the date, and so he finally wrote: about forty five - and put a little question mark after it; he carefully described himself as being small, inclined to baldness, and having one wife; he had no idea what his opinion of the country might be, so he asked his host what he should write opposite that question, and whether he shouldn't leave it blank.

The customary thing, remarked his host, Is to say that you're very glad to be here, but it doesn't matter, because it's all gone over carefully later, and the right answers put in.

But then why say anything? asked the professor.

Civic development, said the man testily, Civic development. Criticism.

Christopher Krauss handed in his sheet and the young woman took it and knocked at a massive door at the end of the room. After a moment's hesitation she went in; at once voices rose in an excited hum; the woman appeared again, and signified that the registration was over, and the Ostriche led Christopher Krauss out and down the winding steps again.

I do believe, said the professor when they were on the street, That it is rather like a pen.

We shut them up all day, said the man, And let them out at night.

Just fancy, murmured the professor.

376

They'd shut themselves up anyway, if we didn't, said The Carpenter. They like things stuffy. The stuffier it is, the more they stuff themselves into it. If it's very stuffy you're sure to find seven or eight of them in it.

In what? the professor asked.

Anything, said the man; A room, or a coat, or an idea. They get almost no sun or wind on their bodies except on Sunday, and everybody knows that Sunday doesn't count. So they die off very fast, and have surprisingly few children.

Why doesn't Sunday count? the professor asked.

Too weak, the man said; Being so full of people, you know. That young woman you met, he added after a pause, Is Elizabeth Jones, the Governor's secretary. And with that, unaccountably, he sighed and shook his head, and they walked along together in silence.

We'll have to hurry on a bit, he announced finally, For I have a class in careentering this morning, and I must look over my lecture.

Do you teach as well? asked the professor.

Even better, said the man.

I used to teach, also, said the professor. Chemistry, he added, to the unspoken question.

Only chemistry? asked the man in surprise.

What else? said the professor, taken aback.

I thought you might have taught plumbing, was the answer. We teach several subjects.

38.

I'm afraid I never knew plumbing, said the professor humbly.

You couldn't have had much pleasure, said the carpenter, And very little conversation. I teach carpentering and films and gardening, and then there's the watch maker who has watch making, of course, and cement construction; the brick layer, who does building and drains and matches; the plumber - but he only teaches plumbing and writing.

Why is that? asked the professor.

He's so busy, the man answered, And so wealthy, And he writes a good deal - bills, you know. He must have a full drawer of uncancelled bills against people - he has a lot of mine.

Are there any more subjects? asked the professor.

Yes indeed, said the man, A great many. There are shoes and pins and meats and a host of things. The lads all travel about from house to house, and between one thing and another, they pick up a good deal.

I should think they would, said the professor.

Particularly, added the carpenter, As it leaves the teacher quite free to say whatever comes into his head.

Now that's a thing of some importance, dried the professor, rubbing his hands.

I thought you'd appreciate it, said the carpenter kindly, seeing as how you were a teacher too, in a

39.

small way.

The professor cleared his throat. Hrumph, he said,
and walked along with his nose in the air, very
indignant. But it was only for a moment, and then
curiosity brought his nose down again.

What happens to the girls? he queried.

They go around among the women and learn
Domestic Arts, Candle making, weaving, silk, knitting
and all that, Expected Happenings, Simple and Advanced
Chance, Talking and Listening, music and a lot more.

Chemistry? asked the professor hopefully,
but they had come opposite the carcenter's house again,
and the question was left unanswered.

S. 2.

The professor spent the afternoon walking about
the country with Sweet Peep, skipping most amazingly
about meadow lanes, and sitting defiantly upon old
stone walls. I haven't done this sort of thing, he
said, Since I was a child.

Goodness, exclaimed Sweet Peep, Did you _play_
when you were a child?

40.

From four to six, said the professor, And an extra hour after supper on Saturday night.

We only got Saturday night, said Sweet Peep thoughtfully.

No one can do all their playing on Saturday night, said the professor firmly; it's too heavy.

It isn't as heavy as Sunday night, said Sweet Peep.

No, the professor admitted, But very nearly.

It doesn't really matter, said Sweep Peep, Because we do all our playing when we're grown up. I know you won't believe it, she added with a giggle, But I only started being jolly last month. I was very backward.

You astonish me, said the professor.

I knew I would, said Sweet Peep.

In my time, the professor went on, People were jolly when they were young, and then they grew up.

And then what? asked Sweet Peep.

Then, said the professor solemnly, They were all very serious.

Sweet Peep pouted. It seems like an awfully stupid way of doing things, she said; To be jolly when there isn't anything to be jolly about, and serious when there is. Whatever did the women do?

There wasn't very much for them to do, the professor admitted.

Perhaps that's why they were so serious, suggested Sweet Peep; It must have been quite a problem.

41.

It was, rather, said the professor.

How discouraging, said Sweet Peep, To be serious
and to have nothing to do. And she shivered a little.

Well, said the professor, What do you do?

There isn't very much to do, she admitted, Because
women aren't good plumbers, you know, and they can't do
carpentering at all, or bricklaying.

You see, she continued eagerly, When we're young
we're so very serious - to get it over with the sooner,
she explained - and so very unhappy because of it, that
when we are really and truly grown up, like me, we can
spend all our time in being jolly. And that takes up
most of a day, you see.

The professor shook his head. That's just a waste
of time, he said.

It isn't really, the girl said; It saves a lot -
all the birds and flowers and clouds and old walls
like this one, that would be wasted most of the time
otherwise.

But the professor was a bit dubious. And what
about the children? he asked.

They'd rather stay indoors, she answered.

It must be rather hard to be a child nowadays, said
the professor thoughtfully, and dug at the earth with
a little piece of stick.

It isn't really, said the girl, Except for the
lessons.

42.

Of course, said the professor; I forgot the lessons.

They're as hard as anything, said the girl.

The professor went on with his digging, and finally
the stick broke, and he threw it away. People must marry
very early, he remarked, looking up.

If they did, said Sweet Peep severely, They'd be
serious when their children were being serious, and
they'd all go mad and be sent to the factories.

Do they ever? asked the professor curiously.

Yes indeed, said Sweet Peep; The children go
mad first, and begin to suppress. That's the way you tell.
They suppress everything, measles and diphag and colic, and
they never get dirty, and they very rarely sing. Then
you know they're mad, and off they go.

The professor got to his feet and helped Sweet
Peep up, and they started home.

But tell me, he said, How do you know when the
parents are mad?

They're mad then, of course, answered the girl,
Awfully mad.

The professor considered this a moment in silence.
I don't think that's a very good way of telling, he
said finally.

It isn't a good way, said Sweet Peep, But it is a
way. There isn't any good way to tell when they're mad,

43.

but you can tell when they're *going* to be mad. Would
you care to hear it?

Please, said the professor.

It begins with a theory, said Sweet Peep, And
then there's a method, and then they *know* that they
mustn't spank their children, and then they grow
madder and madder.

How can you tell if the children are spanked or
not? asked the professor.

Because a spanked child always sings, and gets
*very* dirty, said Sweet Peep simply.

They were home in time for supper, to meet the
wealthy plumber, and to hear him air his views on the
condition of the country.

We are being unfathomably misgoverned, he declared,
*Unfathomably*. He paused a moment and looked about him.
*Unfathomably*, he repeated, a bit uncertainly.

Sweet Peep giggled and nudged the professor with
her elbow, who unexpectedly and astonishingly giggled
back, and then immediately grew red as a beet, and
coughed away like mad.

Have some water, dried his host.

*Don't* give him water, said the plumber, *Anything*
but water.

Here, he said, getting up, Let me look at him.
He went over to the professor and peered down his throat,
and patted his back. It's the pressure, he said, and

44.

went back to his seat, mighty proud and pleased. The
professor gave a last gasp or two, and stopped; I'm -
very - much - obliged, he whispered.

Don't mention it, said the plumber, and pulling
out a huge portfolio, he started writing out a bill.
It took him some time; he put all manner of fancy
flourishes into it, and chewed the end of his pencil
very solemnly.

They say his bills are quite beautiful, whispered
the girl, But very hard to understand.

The plumber came to a full stop, and folding up
the bill, put it back in his pocket.

Look here, whispered the professor to the girl,
It's my bill, isn't it? Why doesn't he give it to me?

Don't be silly, she answered, It's his bill - you
owe it.

The plumber settled himself back in his seat. I
have it on the most reliable information, he continued,
That the factory people in Arkansaw are drinking up the
linseed oil.

Government plot, said Skillet from her end of the
table.

I had a very fine piece of lumber to-day, said the
carpenter in a loud voice.

And they're using solder for sealing wax in New
Mexico, dried the plumber still more loudly.

Government plot, shrieked Skillet.

45.

The yards are full of lumber, howled the carpenter.

The plumber rose. There's no zinc to be had, he
bellowed.

The carpenter climbed onto his chair and howled
with the full force of his lungs, I only need three
pegs to a chair.

They can't bring copper out of Michigan, thundered
the plumber from his chair.

Government plot, Government plot, screamed
Skillet over and over again.

The professor clapped his hands to his ears. What
is it all about? he shouted into Sweet Peep's ear.

It's an argument, she shouted back; Let them be -
the cook's coming.

As she spoke the professor saw the cook in the
doorway; at once the carpenter climbed down from his
chair, the plumber from his; Skillet's voice faltered
in mid career and fluttered out, and they all sat
quietly again while the great, red-haired woman
collected a tray full of dishes and went out.

We must have films to-night for our guest, said
the carpenter in the mildest voice imaginable.

So after dessert the company all trooped up to the
library, but such a library as Christopher Krauss had
never seen before in his whole life. Around the walls
were shelves, but instead of books they held round,
thin boxes piled one on top of another, each with

46.

the name of the film inside printed in large white
letters on the cover. There were adventure tales,
sentimental tales, comedies, educational works, and a
large shelf given over to daily affairs. Around the
room, above the film cases, were pictures of folk falling
out of aeroplanes, throttling each other, making love,
beating on each other in all manner of ways - in short,
going about their every day adventures just exactly as
they had used to do in the professor's time.

But, the professor objected, You have no aeroplanes,
have you?

We did have, said the man, but we got rid of
them.

The professor asked why.

They weren't good for the children, said the man.

Couldn't you have kept the children out of them?
asked the professor.

We always did, said the man, But they went too
fast.

Come, come, thought the professor, This will never
do. He talks nothing but nonsense. It seems to me,
he began loudly, If the children went too fast . . .

It wasn't the children, howled the man, It was the
aeroplanes.

Great heavens, said the professor to himself, It's
going to be an argument! And he kept perfectly still and
tried to scrunch into his seat.

47.

They went so fast, continued the man, in a more
reasonable voice, That we never could take any time
off to go anywhere, because we got there so soon.

Oh, said Christopher Krauss, meekly. But I still
don't see about the children, he added stubbornly.

The result was, the man continued, without paying
any attention to him; The result was - that we all
of us did too much work. We did so much that it made
us nervous, and the nervouser we got, the uglier the
things were which we made. And that affected the
children.

He went to the shelves and took down several boxes.
First of all, he said, I think we'll look at the daily
news; so saying he blew out the candles. A light
showed on a screen at the far end of the room and the
carpenter rejoined his companions. It works itself,
you see, he said to Christopher Krauss.

The professor watched the screen, and presently he
saw, among other news of the day, his own departure
for the governor's. I say, he gasped, who could have
taken that?

The cook, said the man at his elbow; She always
takes the family pictures.

There was not much news; they say the brick-
layer and his wife having a stormy argument at break-
fast; they were treated to the sight of the watch-
maker's small daughter, deserted by the cobbler's young
son, suffering of broken heart; and they watched the

43.

other carpenter for a while, in bed with a headache. A
very dull day, said the Ostriche, and lit a candle.

We can have the latest work of fiction, he said,
Or, if you would prefer it, I could show you our
ancestors.

If you please, said the professor, I think I'd
rather see the ancestors.

O Jiminy, groaned Bill, Have I gotta see those old
things again?

The carpenter clicked open another box, and blew out
the candle. This was my great grandmother, he said, To
the twenty-seventh greatness.

O, I say, exclaimed the professor, What a jolly old
lady. And very like a grandmother, he added.

But twenty-seven times as jolly, of course,
said the carpenter, and twenty-seven times as little
trouble. Now here is her son, he went on, asa huge,
bearded figure was thrown on the screen; There was a
was a man for you.

What did he do, asked the professor.

For years and years, said the carpenter modestly,
He did nothing at all. And after that, he added uncertainly, I lose all track of him.

Then, murmured the professor, How do you know he
is an ancestor?

After all, the carpenter remarked, There he was, you
see, and here I am, and so of course he must have been.

49.

We rather believe in our ancestors, said Skillet;
They rather believed in us, you know.

It gives one a deal of confidence, added the
carpenter.

After a while the ancestors came to an end,
and the candles were lighted. Would you care for a
story, asked them, Or would you rather go to bed?
There is an attachment in your room; you can take a
story up with you, if you wish. I very often do;
I find it very restful.

The professor thanked his host but thought he
would rather just go to bed plain, and leaving the
company, took his way up the stairs to his own little
room. Putting his hand on the bottle of glowing
pills in his pocket, he stood for a moment undecided;
then sinking down slowly on the edge of his bed, he
started to undo his shoes.

At once he heard, sharp and clear, the sound of a
pebble thrown against his window. In some surprise
he waited; another pebble followed, and then another.
Blowing out his candle, he went to the window and
opening it, leaned out, and saw, below him, a group
of cloaked and muffled figures, one of which de-
tached itself from the others, and coming into the
light of a street lamp revealed itself to be no other

50.

than the carrotyhaired woman, the governor's secretary.
Putting her fingers on her lips as a sign for him to be
silent, she threw up to his window a weighted paper
which he caught, and drawing his head back into the
room, he lighted the candle to see what it might be.
It was a note, and as he read it, the professor's
bewilderment increased, for it was no less than a re-
quest that he be opposite the governor's pen at mid-
night of the next day and an added request that he should
come alone, and above all, say nothing of the matter to
anyone. He was at his wits end to know what answer
to make, when he remembered the extraordinary excite-
ment of the woman at his arrival, and being, for all his
timidity, somewhat gallantly venturesome, and thinking
that, at any rate, he had nothing very much to lose,
and that, besides, he could always escape by reason
of his pills, he leaned out the window again, and nodded
his head in assent; at once the group faded back into
the night and hurried away, and Christophr Krauss,
rather excited and a bit apprehensive, went back to
the edge of his bed, and continued his preparations
for the night.

51.

CHAPTER 4.

He was awakened next morning by a melodious
voice under his window chanting a stave that to his
sleepy ears seemed very like the Hi cash clo man's cry,
of his own time. The Ululation of the shouting rose
and fell in a minor cadence, very lovely he thought,
but he wondered if he really did distinguish the words,
which sounded not unlike I - hold - babies . . . babies . .
hold babies. While he dressed the voice sang itself
off into the distance, rising and falling through its
queer, sad melody; and meeting Skillet on the stairs as
he went down to the breakfast hall, the professor made
bold to ask her what it might be, and learned that he
had really heard the words aright, and that the singer
was an I- hold- babies man, on his morning tour of the
street.

The poor, of course, said Skillet, Have their
Day Nurseries, But if you can afford it, there's nothing
like an I - hold - babies for general satisfaction,
I think.

What do they do? asked the professor curiously.

52.

They come very early in the morning, said Skillet,
And take all the younger children off to the country
for the day and teach them little tricks and bring them
home for tea. And they always have hundreds and
hundreds of safety pins, so you needn't bother about
that.

It doesn't leave much time for the mother, does
it, remarked the professor.

It leaves all the time for the mother, retorted
Skillet, And it keeps the mother in a good humor, and
that's very important in training a child. In fact,
she added, as an afterthought, That's the most important
thing there is. Some mothers won't even go near their
babies . . . for fear of temper, you know.

After breakfast Christopher Krauss sought out
his host. He found him fashioning a wheel barrow
in his garden, smoking an old corn cob pipe, and
enjoying himself immensely.

Really, the professor began, I don't seem able
to make head or tail of your government.

Fortunately, answered the carpenter kindly, Nobody
will ask you to, and you can't vote, so there's nothing
to trouble you after all.

That is all very well, said the professor firmly,
But I want to know how it happens that the governor is
kept in a pen.

I say, cried the carpenter in alarm, You're not
thinking of trying to get him out, are you?

53.

I'm sure he's nothing to me, said the professor loftily. But I want to find out why you're a carpenter and he's a governor and Elizabeth Jones is his secretary and who wrote the Book of Expected Happenings and why I had to register and what the plumber does with his bills.

Some of it, said the carpenter, I've forgotten, and some of it I never knew, and some of it has no answer, but I'm a carpenter because, being one, I can sit out in the sun after breakfast and make a beautiful wheelbarrow.

Don't you ever begin at the beginning? complained the professor unhappily.

The beginning, remarked the carpenter, was long ago. I only began lately.

Let's start long ago, suggested the professor.

You might have said that before, the carpenter remarked, Are you sure it won't fatigue you?

The professor nodded and the carpenter began in a faint voice.

We started, he whispered, By having a terrible struggle with the women about the government.

I can hardly hear you, said the professor, You speak so faintly.

That's because it was so long ago, he shouted, It would be faint, of course. However, he resumed, in a whisper, As I was saying, We were struggling with the women about the government, Nobody wanted it.

54.

Great heavens, exclaimed the professor in amazement.

By a small majority, the man continued, We voted it on the women. They voted it on us again.

How could they? asked the professor.

By giving birth to enough daughters, said the carpenter. For an entire generation there were nothing but daughters. It gave them an advantage. However, we retaliated with the First Tax on Spinsters.

He paused a moment. I might say here, he declared modestly, That our family dates from the Third Tax.

On Spinsters? the professor asked.

His host nodded, and blew out a rich cloud of smoke. After the Fifth Tax, he said, We arranged a compromise whereby we were to encourage the daughters to grow up with extra affection for their fathers.

What was that for? asked the professor.

To do away with politics in the home, of course, said the carpenter. However, we quite forgot the sons.

And they, remarked the professor, All grew up with their extra affection for their mothers.

How did you know? said the man, and sighed. That was the trouble, he said; it left us just where we were before.

My! said the professor.

Particularly, the man continued, As the daughters began to fall off, and for awhile we had nothing but sons.

55.

Here he paused to blow his nose and dry his eyes.
That part always affects me, he murmured apologetically.

In desperation, the carpenter went on, Taking a
deep breath, We voted it on the poor, who couldn't help
themselves, and they've had it ever since.

His voice, which had been steadily rising through-
out the entire discourse, came to a full shout upon
the word since, where it ceased abruptly, and the
carpenter without more ado turned to the wheelbarrow
and began measuring the wood.

Thank you, said Christopher Krauss and went thought-
fully up to his room, and sat down to figure out how he
could possibly manage to leave the house at midnight
to meet Elizabeth Jones.

3. 2.

That night the professor excused himself after
the daily news, and going up to his room locked the
door. Next he stripped the covers from his bed, and
tied the sheets together into one long rope, and knotted
one end about the post of his bed. Then there was
nothing to do but wait; he walked up and down the
room once or twice, and coming to his bed, threw him-
self down on it. His thoughts trailed off; he found

56.

himself pursuing Sweet Peep down a long street; they
came to the end of it, and she turned and chased him
back down its interminable length; he ran like fury,
and bumped squarely into the cock, whom he hadn't
seen, and she turned into Eliza. Relish and beat him
over the head with an argument. He woke with a start,
to find the sun pouring into his room, and a cocky
little bird singing on his window sill.

Opening his door, he tiptoeed out into the hall.
The house was gloomy and very quiet, save for the
faint and regular breathing of sleeping folk. He
went down the stairs and out into the fresh chill
of the early morning; the air was like a bracing
plunge, and birds sang all about. This is fine,
cried the professor, stretching his arms, and away
he went, bravely down the street.

At the corner he came all at once on Elizabeth
Jones with a huge, flowered bag in her hand. She
stood still and regarded him sourly.

Hm, she said shortly, and the birds stopped
singing.

I'm very sorry, said the professor abjectly;
Very. I fell asleep.

I waited from two o'clock on, she said, And I
could have waited from three, on and off.

But, objected the professor, Then you weren't
there at twelve either.

57.

I never do all the waiting, said Elizabeth Jones
grossly; You were to wait from twelve until two.

O, said the professor, and felt quite pleased
at having fallen asleep.

You might offer to hold my knitting, said the
woman and passed him the huge bag.

I didn't know it was knitting, retorted the
professor, growing a little vexed.

What else could it be, cried Elizabeth Jones, With
the country at war and all?

But, began the professor, There aren't any
soldiers . . .

That's a secret, said Elizabeth Jones, growing pale.

So how can there be any knitting? the professor
wound up.

There isn't really any knitting, she said
nervously, But I like to call it that. You can call
it Felix if you'd rather.

At any rate, the professor remarked, There's some-
thing, because it's very heavy.

It's a boy, said the woman; Look out, she shrieked,
You'll drop it! For the professor had almost let the
bag fall. Whatever have you got a boy for? Whatever
have you got him there for? he cried in amazement.

For being bad, of course, answered Elizabeth
Jones. There, she exclaimed angrily, You woke him up.
And from the depths of the gayly flowered bag the child

58.

began to howl lustily.

Look here, suggested the professor, You carry him.

We can drop him at the next corner, said the woman;
Let's hurry.

They strode along while the voice of the child
gathered volume, about the professor's knees.
Perspiration began to slide down his face, but when
he thought he would have to put the bag down and make
a bolt for it, Elizabeth Jones stopped before a large
bronze tube, such as you see standing on the counters
of department stores, only much bigger, and labelled
Day Nursery, and took the bag from him, Here, she
said, I must tag him.

She took the cover from a smaller tube that ran
down the side of the larger one, and shouted down it.
Then she put her ear to it, and then shouted again.

Nummerplease, she cried, Nummerplease?

She listened for awhile, and then nodded her head.
Seven thirty five it is, she called down the tube, and
taking the baby out of the bag, wrote the number on a
double card, half of which she tied to the child's
neck, and the other half she put back in the bag.
Stand under, she cried, and kissing the child, who
continually to shriek furiously, she thrust him into the
tube, whence he immediately disappeared, together with
his howls. The professor mopped his brow.

Glory be, he said.

It's a convenience, the woman admitted.

59.

Do you get him back? asked the professor.

In the evening, she answered; I call down the
number, and he comes up on compressed air. Only I have to
be careful, or he comes flying out.

I say, she remarked, after a pause, Have you had
your breakfast?

Heavens, cried the professor, I shall be late, and
with that he hurried home as fast as he could.

But something told him it would be better to say
nothing of the matter to the carpenter, and coming home
a little late for breakfast, he said that he had been
out walking, and that was all.

S. 3.

And then little things of no particular importance
began to happen.

In the first place a huge bunch of spring beets
came for Skillet, followed, shortly after, by the plumber.
In the second place, Christopher Krauss came upon Bill
criing in a corner, and Bill flatly refused to tell
him what the trouble was; and in the third place ...
but the third place came afterwards, of course.

Skillet buried her face in the beets and sniffed

60.

deliciously. Aren't they lovely, she cried, And just
what I wanted.

Stew to-night, remarked Sweet Peep confidentially,
and pinched the professor's arm.

It's such a fine morning, the plumber said to
Skillet, that I thought perhaps you'd like to watch
me stop a leak.

Why, exclaimed Sweet Peep very hurriedly, You
asked me, only yesterday.

I didn't either, cried the plumber.

You did too, shouted Peep, and seizing hold of the
plumber, waltzed him, still protesting, out the door,
but not before she had cast a curious look at the pro-
fessor, as though she were asking him to do something,
but what, he had no idea.

Can't a woman even look at a leak? asked Skillet
in an injured tone, and that was in the third place.

And in the fourth place the professor saw Bill
a moment later, holding his nose very scornfully, throw
the beets out the window, although he knew they were
good beets.

Will you go for a walk with me? asked Skillet
pathetically; the cook is in a temper, so I ought to
be out, and my husband is working in the garden, so
I can't sit there, and Sweet Peep has taken the
plumber.

The professor offered his arm to the lady as
gallantly as he could, and they sailed out down

61.

the garden walk and through the gate.

It's very trying, really, remarked Skillet, apropos
of nothing.

The professor wasn't quite sure just *what* it was
she found so trying, so he contented himself with patting
her hand and saying nothing.

You're so sympathetic, said Skillet; It's quite
a help, somehow.

That shed no light upon the situation, but the
professor smiled and nodded and patted her hand
again because he could think of nothing else to do.

If only he didn't sit around and gawk at me so
mournfully, she complained; and that seemed to focus
things down to the plumber, but just as the professor
was preparing to murmur something cheery about leaks, she
said: He won't let me out of his sight:-- and *that* put
the plumber out of the question.

*Who* are you talking about? asked the professor.

Bother, exclaimed Skillet, I thought you recognized
the conversation; you made all the right answers.

I'm afraid I just stumbled on them, said the pro-
fessor humbly.

It was the beginning, Skillet said, Of the
Discussion: A Mother's Duty to her son, with the
Moral Justification.

Oh, said the professor rather at a loss, and then
could think of nothing else to add to it, and left it
all alone.

62.

My son, said Skillet miserably, Is jealous of me.
He is even jealous of my new spring beets. Here she
was a bit overcome, and she began to cry, and wept
for some time.

The world, she cried at last, drying her eyes,
Lies before me. The trumpet call of people rouses
me. Fame, love, adventure, renown - everything is
mine for the asking, and honors and plumbers. But he -
and by that she doubtless meant her son - He clips my
wings. He binds me to earth. At this she broke
down tremendously.

The professor hopped about first on one foot,
and then on the other. Now, now, he said soothingly,
there, there - dear me.

I must escape, shouted Skillet suddenly; and then
peering about her she lowered her voice. The least it
could do, she whispered, Would be to drive him to
drink. But otherwise - unless I make him suffer - how
can I amount to anything?

Must he suffer more and more as you go on amounting
to things? asked the professor.

Almost in direct proportion; she answered; It's
been very carefully figured out.

Well, said the professor, It seems to me that I've
heard all this before somewhere. Only I heard it the
other side up.

It may very well be, said Skillet calmly; It's

63.

rather a cult these days. There's quite a lot more
conversation goes with it. Would you care to hear it?

No thank you, said the professor hastily.

Just as you please, said Skillet; What shall we
talk about now? I could speak of my passion for the
plumber.

Madam, exclaimed the professor, removing his arm,
you amaze me.

Skillet stamped her foot. Oh, she cried, If
you're always going to be things every which way . . .
She grew calm again directly. You should have said:
Poor woman, she remarked, And patted my hand; or you
could have mentioned what a perfectly glorious thing
for the world it would be for me to make my son really
miserable, awfully, awfully miserable.

But, cried the professor, What would your husband say?

It isn't what he'd say, it's how he'd say it;
answered Skillet, And he always says it very nicely. Only
he rather encourages me to be kind to the child. Ah, how
easy. How very, very easy. But no. Courage, courage -
heart of steel, etc. That's all in the conversation,
too, she explained apologetically, And it ends with my
going home in a horrible excitement to pack my things.
But I haven't met anyone who'd listen to the end yet.

You might begin at the end, of course, the professor
said brightly, And work backwards.

Do you know, said Skillet in amazement, I never
thought of that. It's not at all a bad idea.

64.

And home she went, to find someone to try it on.

S. 4.

That evening as the professor was strolling about
in the garden, he was surprised to see a man dodging
furtively about among the bushes. On his nearer
approach the man fled, but directly upon the spot where
the man had been, he found a folded envelope, and on it,
in familiar flourishes, his name. Opening it, he read
as follows:

The Governor and Governess earnestly request the
honor of Christopher Krauss' presence at a cotillion
and breakfast to be given on ____, the __ of ____,
__, at the Pen. Dancing will open at twelve.

Below, in a large hand was scribbled:

We'll all be there.

Elizabeth Jones.

And that was in the fifth place.

65.

CHAPTER 5.

It lacked ten minutes to midnight when the professor, sliding more rapidly than he had expected down the rope of twisted sheets from his window, landed abruptly in a flower bed, sat up, and looked about him. The street was very dark and still, save where still darker shapes hurried down it in the direction of the Pen, which the professor, joining them and coming suddenly upon it from around a corner, found brilliantly lighted.

He started up the steps, clutching his invitation, when a familiar voice at his side exclaimed So there you are, and looking around he spied Elizabeth Jones.

Come along, she said, I'll introduce you to the Governor.

They went in with the multitude of men and women, and came presently to a small door marked Men's Dressing Room. Here Elizabeth Jones took leave of the professor, promising to meet him later, and he entered the room to tidy up a bit, and brush the remains of the flower bed from where he had landed.

66.

The room, which was the bleakest the professor thought he had ever seen, was occupied by a score or more men, who stood or sat about in various stiff attitudes, and eyed each other in silence. The magnificence of their dress made the professor feel rather ashamed of his own plain attire, but he pushed boldly in, wherat each man opened his mouth and emitted a faint Oh. Somewhat daunted, the professor turned to retreat, but other men coming in, and finding that for each arrival the men already in the room opened their mouths and ejaculated Oh, he changed his mind and went about his brushing and tidying, and said his Oh with the best of them.

Having arranged himself, then, he went out into the hall; there was no sign of Elizabeth Jones up or down, and feeling very plain and lonely in the crowds of people who poured by him, he drifted along with them, and commended himself to Chance. At the next corridor, however, he found his acquaintance, dressed in the most bewildering assortment of colors, and followed her through the echoing, dimly lighted halls down to the ball room.

The main chamber was ablaze with candles, and crowded, brimmed to overflowing, with a multitude ofgorgeously bedecked folk, upon whom fresh multitudes kept flowing through every door way. In the center and pivot of these various throngs stodd the

67.

Governor and Governess.

The professor looked at the governor with some
curiosity. He was a small, stout man, with very
little hair, none at all on top; his eyes, which
were small and blue, wandered vaguely and helplessly
about among the folk, and he had a fairly large gray
moustache, which he kept pulling every now and then,
and whenever he pulled it, he frowned. By his side,
gowned in more colors than even Elizabeth Jones,
ablaze with glory, stood the governess, very proud
and haughty. Toward this remarkable couple Elizabeth
Jones elbowed her way, and presently stood before them.

Governor, she said, And Governess - meet my friend
Krauss.

At the name of the professor an audible stir ran
through the room, faces were turned toward him, folk
pressed close on his heels. O said one, Ah, said another,
hm, muttered a third.

The Governor looked at the Governess. It's an
honor on us, he said, Isn't it, my dear.

Nonsense, said the Governess, It can't be on her
and on us too. You'll have to settle it somehow.

Well, said the Governor to Elizabeth Jones, I'll
take it up, I'll take it up. See me a week from
tomorrow.

O come, said the professor, There's no sense to that,
you know.

68.

It's always done, said the Governor severely to
the ceiling.

It's always done, said a voice behind the pro-
fessor; it's always done, echoed another, and other
voices repeated it until the whole room was saying it, and
It's always done, muttered and hummed and droned among
the people.

You'll be out of course, said the Governess to the
Governor, When they come?

Unquestionably, replied the Governor.

So you see, said the Governess to the professor,
It's no trouble at all.

You'll follow the rules? asked the governor
plaintively, And use the back stairs, and bring your
influence?

<u>Never</u> forget your influence, said the Governess
primly.

Really, said the professor, I don't believe I
have any.

Saloons and Senators, cried the Governor aghast,
He has no influence!

He has no influence, cried a voice, and He has no
influence, whispered another . . . Did you hear <u>that</u>?
He has no influence . . . There's a scandal for you . . .
The low hum of voices fled among the people in faint
laughter.

69.

But just as the professor was beginning to feel
thoroughly abashed, a dozen big bass drums began to
boom a slow, even beat, and the crowds eddied and
stirred and separated. The governess leaned toward him.
Shall we dance? she asked.

The professor looked miserably for Elizabeth Jones,
but she was gone.

If you please, he said, And at once the governess
threw her arms about his neck and fell at him, so that
he was hard put to it not to fall down; however, he
found it entirely impossible to move, and so he stood
still for what seemed to him an interminable time
while the big drums boomed and the crowds about him
buzzed, and his knees sagged lower and lower. It
gave him some satisfaction, however, to discover that
no one else, apparently, made any other movement; in-
deed, there was no space at all for anyone to move in,
and people just stood close and hugged each other and
wriggled, or balanced first on one foot and then on
the other. Presently the drums gave one final crash
and stopped, and the governess released him.

I must say, she remarked, You dance very nicely,
and with that she turned her back on him. But the
professor slipped off, and elbowing a passage through the
throngs, pushing and being pushed, he made his way off the
floor, up a narrow iron stairway and onto a little balcony,
from which he could see the dancers, although himself un-
seen.

70.

Here he sank down for very weariness and fanned himself
and caught his breath, until, lulled by the sound of
distant drums, the murmur of voices below him, the
rustle and the movement of people, he fell asleep.

He woke to find the dawn just breaking, staining
a tiny window behind him a yellow gray. Below were still
the lights, the crowds, the drums; voices were higher,
perhaps, the blare a bit more discordant. And still no
one moved; the couples met, engaged, teetered, and
separated, met, engaged, and teetered again. It was
while he was watching this, and marvelling at its
extreme simplicity, that Elizabeth Jones found him.

Goodness, she cried when she spied him, Where have
you been?

The professor felt a little bit ashamed of himself,
because, after all, it wasn't just the thing, to fall
asleep at the Governor's ball. O, he said airily,
I've been here and there.

You couldn't have been there very long, said
Elizabeth Jones, Because wherever I went I looked there.

No doubt you just missed me, said the professor;
I came here from there, you see. Shall we dance, he added
dubiously.

Of course, answered Elizabeth Jones, and pulling
him down the stairs, swung him out into the multitude,
and flinging herself at him, they both commenced

71.

solemnly to rock up and down.

S. 2.

You're for us, aren't you? said Elizabeth Jones,
after they had been dancing awhile in silence.

Tremendously, said the professor heartily, although
he wasn't at all sure who we might be.

Well, she said, I'm glad of that. Do you favor
dynamite?

Glory be, thought the professor to himself, It
is a plot. But he didn't say that to Elizabeth Jones.

And who do you think ought to vote, continued
Elizabeth Jones, They, or we?

There, said the professor to himself, It's not
a plot at all. It's a conversation. But aloud he said,
I hadn't thought about it.

Then you must begin thinking at once, said
Elizabeth Jones, Or you'll never catch up with it.
And it seemed to the professor that he heard all around him
in the ball room a faint and fugitive echo, You'll never
catch up with it.

In the meanwhile, said Elizabeth Jones, Tell me
about your boyhood. Was it very dismal?

72.

The professor considered a moment. I don't think it was, he said thoughtfully; I remember a little yellow dog I was fond of, and a nurse who used to spank me. I fancy I was jolly enough.

A nurse ought never to spank a child, said Elizabeth Jones, solemnly; It lowers the child's morale. It's far better to stick pins into it, and much more satisfactory. Or even to pinch it, she added, *Very* hard.

So you see, said the professor, That's all there was to *that*, and then I was married.

Ah, said Elizabeth Jones, sympathetically, Poor woman. What did she die of?

Die of? echoed the professor, growing pale.

Or from, or with, said Elizabeth Jones, Although it's nicer to die of than die with, I think!

But she didn't die at all; cried the poor professor, and felt his insides grow from panic to milk and from milk to water.

She must have died of *something*, remarked Elizabeth Jones simply; being dead so long, you know.

O, cried the professor in a small voice, and then he knew all of a sudden that his wife had indeed died long, long ago, and in that moment unutterable woe took possession of him, and set upon his chest; his knees shook, the room spun around, and he started

73.

incontinently to weep.

Now really, exclaimed Elizabeth Jones, This is too
bad.

But the professor shook his head; he could find no
words, they would not come to him. Grief had fallen
suddenly upon him and he felt very old and lonely, and
he wanted his wife, and she was dead and buried and
turned to dust, and not even a memory except to him.
And with a bowed head he turned blindly from Elizabeth
Jones, and stumbled away and was lost among the dancers,
leaving her there behind him, silent and offended.

And in the early morning only the birds had
glimpse of a small thin man going swiftly through the
streets, now crying aloud to heaven, now calling upon
a name, and always in a sort of sorrow-stricken frenzy
measuring his steps to fall four upon the brick pave-
ment, five upon the wood, only four upon the brick,
only five upon the wood . . . no more, no less . . .
four steps, five steps, four steps, five steps . . .
never missing, never hesitating, never ceasing to
mean and cry aloud in lamentation. And when he came
upon the rubber part, he bounced.

---

S. 3.

After breakfast, the professor begged from his

75.

The features of the professor lightened of their woe. Bless me, he cried, So I could. He paused a moment, overcome at such possibility. Then she wouldn't be really dead, would she? he cried joyously, Or married?

But Sweet Peep looked grave. It's a very difficult question, she said, And I don't pretend to understand it. Unquestionably she's dead now, dead as dead, and yet if you went back she'd seem to be as alive as alive. I think it has something to do with Before the Fact - that's legal, and very important. It answers almost anything, if you put the question right.

It doesn't seem to answer this, said the professor disheartened.

No, said Sweet Peep hopefully, But that's only because we put the question wrong.

Can't we put it right? asked the professor.

Not without years and years of training, said Sweet Peep, And then we couldn't be sure. However, she added thoughtfully, I think she'd have a very hard time proving anything, and so if you could prove even the weakest, you'd be all right, no doubt.

But the professor's face fell. I forgot, he moaned, and wrung his hands, I forgot. I don't know which pills are the backwards ones, and which are the forward ones. I might have to travel forty thousand years before I found out, and then I'd never get home. And here the poor man started to weep.

It's too bad, said Sweet Peep, and patted his hand.

76.

Thank you, said the professor.

And now, she went on, as he grew calmer, I want
to talk to you _very_ seriously. I hope that you didn't
encourage mama.

I don't _think_ I did, said the professor uncertainly.
It doesn't seem to me that either one of us encouraged the
other at all.

I'm glad of that, sait Sweet Peep; You see, she's
bound to elope with somebody sooner or later, and I
want to put it off until Bill is older.

And quite right, too, said the professor primly,
For the sake of the proprieties.

Oh, no, answered Sweet Peep, For the sake of the
law suit.

But, asked the professor somewhat bewildered,
Whatever has Bill to do with the law suit?

Why, the girl answered, If she left him when he was
very young he'd get wopping big damages . . . desertion,
you know, and failure to support . . . but if he's old
enough to get along without her, the damages are
small. And father has to pay the damages anyhow, you
see, so I want them to be as small as possible.

I should think, the professor remarked, That your
mother ought to pay for her own damages.

She hasn't anything to pay them with, said
Sweet Peep, And anyhow, a father owes his son all the
necessities, including a mother - so he'd be responsible
for there not being one - and have to pay the damages,

77.

and besides, if he feels that he can't afford damages,
he can always beat his wife and tell her to stay home.
Lots of them do, but it's considered rather an admission
of poverty.

Oh, said the professor.

So you see, Sweet Peep wound up, You must do your
best not to encourage her. I think she'll have the
plumber; that's why I took him off with me
yesterday. Naturally I'm more keen for father than
for mother.

Oh, said the professor again, and Sweet Peep
skipped off down the street to her class in ad-
vanced buttonholes.

At lunch the plumber was there again, looking
rather disturbed. The country, he said, Is going to
the dogs. I can't get any zinc. But after lunch he
waylaid the professor out in the garden where no one
could spy them.

Lookee here, he said, You've been talking to
Skillet.

So here you, returned the professor, which so took
the plumber aback that for a moment he could think of
nothing to say, and only gasped and spluttered.
Finally, however, he ground his teeth and frowned
frightfully.

Now then, he growled, in a very deep voice, Don't
you go trying to sophisticate me.

78.

I wasn't trying to do anything of the sort, said the professor.

You were trying to do something, I tell you, cried the plumber, And I won't have it. And what I won't have, he added importantly, I usually don't get.

So there you are, he added, as Christopher Krauss made no answer.

That's very nice, I'm sure, remarked the professor, which apparently threw the plumber into a rage.

I say you've been talking to Skillet, he shouted, In and out of turn.

The professor saw a dawning light. So, he said to himself.

I've written you a bill, said the plumber, For the part of my turn you used.

Oh, that's all right, replied the professor grandly.

And what's more, the plumber went on, You needn't think she'd run away with you. You're only an expected happening. I dare say you couldn't even stop a leak, and that's the very easiest thing there is, for a man of any talent. I dare say you don't even know how to be polite to a cook. And where's your conversation? And with that he puffed and glared so as quite to overwhelm the poor professor.

I'm sure I don't want to run away with her, he said very hurriedly.

79.

Well, said the plumber, You'd better not, because
if I find you do, I'll explode sewers and burst boilers
and spring leaks and forget to put washers on joints
and may basins overflow and roofs let in water on you
while you sleep, and ...

That's quite enough, thank you, said the professor,
and hurried away.

... And may you be effectually damed, bellowed
the plumber after him.

But the professor made all haste to Sweet Peep.
You were right, he told her, She is going to have the
plumber.

Darn, said Sweet Peep, Whatever shall we do?

I don't know, said the professor; I want to
think it out.

So that afternoon he went out all alone into the
country, and sat on the ground and thought and thought,
and at tea time he came home very much delighted with
himself and sought out Sweet Peep again.

I have it, he exclaimed, It's very simple. I'll
give him a bite of a backwards pill - just a bite -
in his tea - and once we get him into the past, even if
only for a minute back, he'll never catch up with us
again, all his life - he'll never be in the future,
but always in our past, meeting us just after we're
gone, and finding us just after we've left.

The thought of the plumber racing along behind
them, always a minute too late, never seen, never

80.

heard, but always remembered, was too much for Sweet
Peep, and she burst into bright laughter. You old
dear, she cried, and the professor fairly bubbled
with pleasure. But then all at once she stopped
laughing and looked grave.

What's the matter? asked the professor appre-
hensively.

I never thought, she said; You don't know which
are the backwards pills. And suppose you gave him a
forward one?

The professor's face fell and he shivered slightly.
Well, he said bravely, We'd come on his past sooner or
later.

His past would be awfully upset, said Sweet Peep.

The professor shivered harder. I know, he said
more feebly, But there's nothing else to do.

He pays his damages as he goes, said Sweet Peep
gravely.

The professor swallowed. I know, he whispered.

You're very young to die, murmured Sweet Peep.

Thank you, said the professor huskily, and wiped
away a tear.

Then squaring his slight but resolute shoulders,
he marched boldly in to tea.

S. 4.

Won't you have some more cake? asked Skillet. Please

81.

do, she whispered; It's the cook's favorite cake.

I'm all full, said the professor unhappily, but
the plumber waved him aside. Give me the cake, he
said, and taking a large piece, stuffed it all into
his mouth, and then glared triumphantly over at the
professor, as though to say: You can't even help eat
the cook's cake; but the professor said nothing, and
only held tighter to the little bottle of pills in
his pocket.

Skillet's friend, Kettle, was holding a solemn
discussion with the carpenter. The spirit of the times,
she remarked, is unrest. Here and there . . . it's
very ominous.

Very, agreed the carpenter.

It always about so under one's feet, said Kettle.

Here Skillet broke in. It's all those wretched
governing classes, she said; They're never satisfied.
They'll be wanting sun in the morning next - as though an
hour of sun at noon weren't enough for them.

As I understand it, said the plumber heavily, they
even had the impudence to suggest that we stay at
home on Sundays, to give them more air.

Heavens, cried Skillet, Whatever are we coming to?

I found the Chief Justice's son in my carpentery
class yesterday, said the Ostriche, But you can believe
me that I threw him out pretty quick.

I should hope so, cried his wife.

82.

And all the plotting and the counterplotting that goes on under one's very nose, said Kettle; I declare, we'll wake up some day and find ourselves in a regular revolution. And what will we do?

They'll mighty well starve, said the carpenter. Imagine a lawyer trying to make a wheelbarrow, or a chest of drawers.

Of a boiler, or a kitchen sink, scoffed the plumber. The trouble with them is that they don't know when they're well off.

At the first sign of trouble, said the carpenter to Kettle, We shall all stop work, and simply leave them to their fate. And if they get very noisy, we can always hang a few important looking men and women. You've no idea how discouraging that is, to see important looking men and women being hanged.

Hm, said the plumber, and looked over at the professor, I always like a good hanging. It clears things up.

The professor set his teeth, and moved closer to the plumber's tea cup.

The great mass of the officials, said the carpenter, Are content, quiet and law abiding, But these confounded agitators get loose among them, and they lose their heads. They don't remember that a laborer's life has its disadvantages, too - when it rains, for instance.

83.

You always stay home when it rains, father, remarked
Bill solemnly.

Who asked for your opinion? asked the Ostriche, inately.

In his pocket the professor felt for the bottle of
pills, and unscrewed the cover. He took one out, and
with his nail chipped a piece from it, and putting the
rest of the pill back, replaced the cover. His teeth
chattered a good deal.

In my opinion, said the plumber, The governor is
an honest man, but I'd watch out for that Elizabeth
Jones. She has what I should call a wild look.

Under the table the professor passed the bit of
pill to Sweet Peep, who opened her eyes wide but said
nothing. The professor looked at the plumber, whose back
was turned to him, and pointed to his tea; Sweet Peep
nodded.

Two lumps or three? she asked the plumber, and
while he was rumbling in the sugar bowl, she dropped
the bit of pill into his cup where it instantly
dissolved. The professor mopped his brow with trembling
fingers.

The plumber raised his tea cup. A very wild look,
he remarked, and so saying he drained the tea in a single
gulp. Sweet Peep went pale, and stared at the plumber
in a sort of fascinated horror, while the professor held
tightly to his knees to keep them from knocking together.

84.

Slowly the smile of the plumber left his face, and he
stared back at Sweet Peep with a puzzled expression
that rapidly gave way to alarm. What on earth, he
gasped faintly, and he grew dinner and dinner, and
went out at last with a sudden flicker, like a candle,
while Bill and Kettle and the Ostriche gaped at him
open-mouthed in amazement, and Sweet Peep almost fell
off her chair with excitement. But Skillet flung her-
self at his departing shadow with a scream.

Government plot, government plot, she shrieked,
and promptly fainted dead away.

S. 5.

Early the next morning Bill came into the
professor's room with a huge bunch of flowers. These
are from Sweet Peep, he said, And I brought you a
jack knife; it hasn't any blades, but if you keep
it shut, it looks like it had, and you can shine it
up great.

Well, said the professor, Isn't that fine.

I have an agate with a crack in you could have, too,
said the boy.

Well, well, exclaimed the professor, Don't you
want anything?

85.

I'm not allowed to, was the answer. No boy is.

Why not? asked the professor in surprise.

Because, answered Bill, No boy can ever have what
he wants, and when you have a want and can't have it,
it's bad for you, and you get symbols, like Sweet Peep.

I see, said the professor.

Bill shuffled abut a bit, and finally he seemed
to be working up his couraging for something, and after
awhile it worked up, and he spoke timidly.

Could I feel your muscle? he asked,

The professor flexed his arm, and Bill stepped
over and felt of it admiringly. Isn't it little,
he said; But it did make that old zinc eater fly,
didn't it?

The professor laughed merrily. So that's it, he
cried, and patted Bill on the back.

But Bill only grew embarrassed and hung his head.
Aw, he muttered,

The professor looked at him and as he looked he
swelled an inch, a pardonable inch, with pride, feeling
for the first time in his meager life, the sweetness of
being an indubitable hero to one small boy. It was a
high point; he hummed a bar or two of melody, and
stared at himself in the glass, and felt of his chin ...

And then at the very crest of the wave, from down-
stairs with the sickening, inevitable all-at-oneness of a
dream, resounded a fearful crash. Bill turned pale and
went out into the hall and listened across the

56.

bannisters, while the noise below grew and grew. In a
moment he was back again, and tragedy was writ large upon
his face.

It's the plumber, he said, hopelessly; he's
back.

As in the grip of an unbelievable horror the professor stood blankly and wrung his hands while below swelled and became distinguishable the thunderous tones of the plumber demanding his miserable body. Darkness descended upon him in a great cloak, and a numb despair; with icy fingers, curiously sure, in swift, mechanical movements he bound his bed sheets together into a rope, and groped through the blackness of his terror for the bed post; almost unconscious-ly he flung himself out of the window and down into space, and started off through the garden; indeed, it was not until he heard the shout of the plumber as he spied him and gave pursuit, that the professor awoke to the full and wretched significance of his position, and stopping only to make sure that his bottle of pills was safely in his pocket, he started off at top speed, the plumber after him. Up and down interminable streets they went, in and out of lanes, until it seemed to the poor man that he could go no further, and that his lungs must burst; and with that he stumbled and fell, and lay still, expecting the heavy hand of the pursuer on his neck, but no

87.

one came, and raising his head he saw the plumber lying
a few yards distant from him, at his last gasp, as was
he, and so the two men lay there, struggling for
breath, watching each other with wide open eyes, until
the plumber at last raised to his knees, whereupon the
professor in his utter extremity of fright, jumped
to his feet and galloped off, whilst the plumber toppled
over again, and lay there all morning, before he could
summon sufficient breath to take him home. But the
professor, dragging his miserable body down a dark and
unfamiliar lane, came to a door marked Cafe, and
pushing through the door came upon Elizabeth Jones
at a table near the entrance, and fell into a chair
beside her and sat there speechless and distraught,
to the great excitement of everybody.

---

88.

CHAPTER 6.

Here, said Elizabeth Jones, is where I live, and
opening a door, she ushered the professor into a small
sort of garret. It first he could distinguish nothing
at all but a large wicker bird cage with a little
lonely canary in it; he was still having rather a
time of it with his breath when they had left the
Cafe, and as the garret was a good many flights up,
the professor had almost no breath left for anything
but breathing; however, he sank down onto a chair
and after a bit, as his breath came back again, he
looked around him with some curiosity.

It was certainly the oddest garret he had ever seen.
The walls were painted a flat blue, as was the floor, and
the woodwork was bright orange, with red and green
elephants parading about on it. The furniture, or what
there was of it -- was in the same manner; a huge low
couch filled up one side of the room, covered with
yellow cloth and green, blue, brown and red cushions.
On the couch lay a large cat, and regarded him soberly;
outside the single attic window, on the window ledge,
bloomed a solitary ear of corn. The effect of the tiny

89.

room and the blues and the greens and the reds and
the oranges, and the parading elephants, was termendously
ly gay, although even Elizabeth Jones had to admit that
it was a *little* bewildering just at first.

You'll be perfectly safe here, she told the professor, And happy enough, no doubt. You'll share the couch with the cat, and I shall sleep on the floor. I've always wanted to. I'd let the cat take the floor but she's not used to it, and there's no telling *what* she'd do, or where, or when.

But, began the professor unhappily,

Tut, said Elizabeth Jones, It's a pleasure. I'm off to the Pen, and with that she was gone, clattering down the stairs.

Left all alone among the elephants, Christopher Krauss began to feel just a tiny bit sorry for himself. He went to the window and peered out; he was on a narrow, cobbled street, whose gloomy old houses towered across from him, shutting out the sun, making a cold shadow in the lane between them, their doors a mass of tarnished gilt and ruined bronze and old, old, discolored marble. On the steps of each house negroes lay in the shadows, in uniforms that must once have been resplendant. Pale faces with unkempt hair stared down at the street from other windows; children cried; far off sounded a desultory tinkle of music. Everywhere was melancholy, shadow, and confusion.

90.

The professor went away from the window, and sat on the couch, and stroked the cat. He began to feel sorrier and sorrier for himself, and after a while, for the cat. It was all very dismal. He tried to hum a tune, but no tune came, except a feeble one, that trailed off after a bit into silence. He began to think of the people he had known long ago - it seemed long ago - in the little college town, wondering where they were, and what they were doing.

And then all of a sudden he remembered how *very* dead they were, and that they weren't doing anything anywhere at all, and then he felt so sorry that he couldn't contain himself any longer, and putting his head down on the couch by the cat, he kicked with his feet, and howled. He had done a *great* deal of weeping already, of course, but then, the provocation was great.

It was while he was weeping thus, kicking and howling, that a soft voice said almost in his ear, "Would you like a word?"

O, exclaimed the professor, and sitting up he came face to face with the governess.

You can have one of mine, said the governess, and looked at him so commiseratingly that his grief grew quite beyond control and he wept afresh.

Personally, said the governess, I always prefer a good round one, like Thimbles and Nincompoops, or Cooks and Confusion, or, sometimes even Children and

91.

Fiddle sticks. But don't let that influence you.

The professor sat up on the couch and boked at the
governess solemnly. To-night, he said in a low voice,
I am to sleep with the cat. And *she* is to sleep on the
floor.

I wouldn't cry about that, said the governess;
You have the floor to yourself all day, you know.

It isn't the floor, said the professor gloomily.

Perhaps it's the decorations, remarked the governess
looking around. Elephants always make me uneasy, she
added, Though no doubt they're very tasty.

I shall be here, remarked the professor disconsolately
Until the plumber is an old, old man.

I hope you brought your pills, said the governess
in alarm.

The professor nodded. Then *that* for the plumber,
cried the governess, and snapped her fingers, but the
professor shook his head.

I have swallowed my last pill, he announced.

What? shrieked the governess.

They don't agree with me, said the professor.

Nonsense, cried the governess, and grasping the
professor firmly by the hand she pulled him suddenly
off the couch and out of the room and down the stair
and before he knew where he was he found himself
sitting beside her in a huge old coach drawn by four

92.

old horses and proceeding through the jumbled street
at a wild gallop. In front of him on the box sat
two old men, half hidden under piles and piles of
ancient and tarnished gold braid, while on either side
of the carriage ran counterparts of them puffing and
blowing, gold braid floating out behind them in
loops and coils and every now and then getting in-
extricably wound about in their feet so that they
fell to the ground with a loud thump. In and out of
harrow cobbled alleys went this cavalcade at a great
rate, twisting and turning, but never venturing out
upon the broad highways that rolled before the houses
of the carpenters and the blacksmiths, until at last
behind the professor's ear a melancholy bugle let out
a discordant blast and the equipage drew up with a
flourish before a broad, tumbledown building painted
shiny red, so shiny, indeed, and so red, that the sun
on it dazzled the eyes. The governess stepped out of
the carriage, still holding firmly to the professor,
the doors of the building swung open and two more
venerable monuments of gold braid appeared on the
threshold. Opening their mouths with one accord
they remarked in a deeply offended tone, You've
overstayed yourself again'

I'm very sorry, said the governess meekly, and

93.

with that, she and the professor swept into the
house, and the doors shut behind them with a bang.

And that's all of that except to explain, as it
was later explained to the professor, that when a
governor gets too old to be a governor any more, he and
his whole family are muffled up in gold braid and set
to take care of the new governor and his family, and
the professor thought it was a very sensible way out of
the difficulty.

S. 2.

I suppose, said the governess after lunch, That
you'll want to see the Session and the Courts, so I've
ordered the coach.

I thought I'd take a little nap, remarked the
professor hopefully.

You can nap at the Session, said the governess,
Unless the House is in, and then you won't have time.

Why not? asked the professor.

They'll want you to referee, said the governess;
I hope you know the rules.

I'm afraid not, said the professor nervously.

94.

It's very simple, the governess explained; Let's say that everything goes in p, like pulling and pushing and party lines, or everything goes in d, like digging and ducking and dignity, or in s, like shoving and slapping and sense - or if you're very bloodthirsty you can say that everything goes from a to z, only then you want to watch out.

That must be awful, murmured the professor.

It is, the governess agreed, It is. All sorts of things go you never thought of before. Acts and bills, and things in o and d, like conduct and dignity, and eggs and fillibusters and glue and humor and ink, and things in j and k, like jolts and kicks, and laws and manners, and nerves go, all the ordinary things in o, and people keep going all the time, and quiet goes, and the resources of the state, and teeth, and even underwear if they get very excited, and vests and wisdom, and - and nothing goes in x, or y, except you, perhaps, going zealously away.

I'm quite sure I shouldn't like it, said the professor.

Nonsense, said the governess, and taking him by the hand again she rushed him down the stairs and into the coach, and so they rattled off to the Pen.

We'll go to the trial first, the governess announced, when they arrived, and she led the way up the stairs into a dark, musty, yellow room, so arranged

95.

that whichever way the professor looked, the light
made him squint. The room was almost empty, save
for the raised platform at the end, where six black
gowned judges sat solemnly behind a long table, each
with a tremendous china jug before him. Below them,
side by side, sat the public prosecutor and the public
defender, alike as two peas, in order, as the governess
later explained, that neither one should have the
advantage; and behind them sat a man and a boy with
their backs to each other and a very grim expression
on the face of each. In various corners clerks
scribbled away on bits of paper, but there was nothing
that looked like a jury anywhere.

I say, the professor whispered to his companion,
What's it all about?

Breach of promise, she whispered back.

The professor looked around him. Where's the
plaintiff, he asked curiously.

The governess pointed to the boy. There he is,
she said, And there, she added, pointing to the man,
is the defendant.

Why, stammered the professor at a loss, Where's the
woman?

I'm sure I don't know, remarked the governess
primly; She has nothing to complain of.

96.

But the promise was made to her, objected the professor.

Then she had the promise, said the governess, And that's a good deal. And if she lost it, that's no affair of ours.

Then what is the boy doing? asked the professor.

He's suing of course, said the governess; He got nothing, not even a promise.

In my time, the professor said, One had the suit first, and the boy afterwards.

How absurd, said the governess; It mightn't be a boy, and then the damages would be entirely different. And they'd be different according to the age of the child at the time of the suit. A grown man, for instance, couldn't recover anything.

But the woman always got the damages, said the professor, Either way.

What a shame, said the governess, Then the only one who got nothing at all was the child. He ought to get the damages.

Just then the trial started. All the clerks opened their mouths together and let out a sort of droning buzz and then began to scribble away furiously; the boy walked up to the judge's bench and sat down in a chair beside it; the judges all began drinking out of their great jugs, and all at once the two lawyers began jumping up and down and waving their arms.

97.

What are they doing now? asked the professor.

They're objecting, answered the governess.

I should think the judges would stop them, said the professor.

The judges don't mind, as long as they have plenty of water, said the governess. There now - one of them has gone dry, and as she spoke one of the judges brought his jug down with a terrible bang and began shouting and beating on the table and throwing papers about; at once the two lawyers fell into their seats and everyone sat still as a mouse while a quivering clerk rushed with the empty jug to the nearest spigot. Then the two lawyers jumped up again and the clerks went on scribbling in their corners, and everybody sighed comfortably except the judges, who went right on drinking.

We could go now, said the governess, There'll be another one dry directly, and after that they'll count up the objections and serve tea, but it's not very good.

Then let's go, said the professor, and with that the governess whisked him out of his seat and down the stairs, followed by a tremendous crash of crockery in the court room, and up to a green door marked Senate.

Can we go in? she asked the doorkeeper, and

98.

he peered in through the green door anxiously.

They're very quiet, he said dubiously, Almost
too quiet. I'd best rouse them up a bit.

Don't bother, said the governess; How is the Session?

They've been reciting poetry again, said the man
solemnly, And getting in each other's way. It makes
them very gloomy.

Well, said the governess, We'll come again.

The man cheered up immensely at that. Thank you,
he said, and the governess moved away.

But tell me, cried the professor to the governess
as they started home again, What under heaven does the
Senate represent?

It represents the past, said the governess. Some-
body has to, or we'd always be doing the same silly
things over and over again.

Still, said the professor, They do seem so
muddled.

So does the past, answered the governess.

But who makes the laws? Cried the poor man.

The carpenters and the plumbers, said the
governess,

S. 3.

That night there was a great dinner at the

99.

governor's house in honor of Christopher Krauss; he sat between Elizabeth Jones and the governoress, and the governor made a speech attacking the amalgamated plumbers, and another dignitary made a speech disposing of the cooperative carpenters, and still another launched into a veritable polemic on the question of the brickmakers union. In so far as all three speeches went on at once, and since wherever the speakers lacked in logic they made up for it in vehemence, and whatever they lacked in vehemence they made up in nonsense, it was impossible to understand any of it, and it was very fine and exciting, and the professor applauded as hard as the rest of them!

What did you think of it? shouted the governoress, clapping away at a great rate.

Which one? cried the professor, doing his best to make more noise than anybody.

The governor won, screamed the governoress, By a budget.

A young man rose suddenly from across the table, and held aloft his glass. Christopher Krauss, he shouted.

Christopher Krauss, shouted everyone in the room, and bowed to him and drank his health.

Christopher Krauss was pleasantly surprised. Thank you, he said, as he got to his feet; and he made

100.

a bold attempt to empty his glasses all at once.

The governor rose, very important and commanding.
Christopher Krauss, he cried, and Christopher Krauss,
eshed everyone, and drank his health again, and
Thank you, cried the professor getting to his feet
again, and all but emptying his glass which had some-
how been miraculously filled.

Christopher Krauss, boomed a deep voice, and
the company swayed and bowed and echoed and drank
to their guest, and Christopher Krauss, finding his
glass still filled to the brim, put on his feet
once more, and thanked them all, and quite emptied
his glass and sat down again.

And then each member of the company in turn
shouted his name and drank to him, and Christopher
Krauss shouted back and drank to them, and the company
rose and fell and bowed and echoed and swayed until
somehow they swayed themselves right out of the room,
and the professor was left alone with Elizabeth Jones
who for some unaccountable reason, had divided herself
into three like parts, and was bobbing about among
them.

I wish you'd stay in one or the other, said the
professor plaintively.

Today, said all three Elizabeth Jones speaking

101.

together, Skillet refused the plumber.

That is nothing to me, said the professor mightily.

He called at the depot, remarked Elizabeth Jones,
For hemp.

Did you say help, or hemp? asked the professor.

Hemp, said Elizabeth Jones emphatically.

They make ropes out of hemp, remarked the professor
vaguely.

Little and big, said Elizabeth Jones.

I hope you gave him a big one, said the professor
politely.

Not a very big one, she answered; and with that
she looked at him so speculatively, most particularly
at his neck, that the poor fuddled creature began to
grow alarmed.

I say, he remarked confidentially, What do you
think he wants it for?

The three Elizabeth Jones met, merged into one,
and rising, whispered in his ear. The professor grew
pale and his mouth opened slightly, where it stayed,
allowing his tongue to creep out and run about on
his lips and then go back again.

Me? he said finally in a small voice. Elizabeth
Jones nodded vigorously.

Who's afraid? quavered the professor.

I knew you'd say it, cried Elizabeth Jones and

102.

clapped her hands.

Of course I'd say it, snapped the professor.

I dare say you'd even do it, said Elizabeth Jones
admiringly.

I dare say I would, said the professor looking
very truculent.

But that would spoil everything, said Elizabeth
Jones.

No doubt it might, agreed the professor; I'd
best not do it.

Because then, went on Elizabeth Jones, We wouldn't
possibly blow him up when we blow up all the carpenters
and all the bricklayers and all the blacksmiths and
the tinsmiths and the watchmakers and the cobblers and
the glass blowers and the farmers and all the plumbers
next month.

All the plumbers, asked the professor incredulously.

And their sons and daughters and wives and cooks
and cousins and apprentices said Elizabeth Jones enthusiastic-
ally.

The professor arose and faced her. You amaze me, he
said, and shook hands with her solemnly.

Only, she said sadly, It's not in the Book of
Expected Happenings, and so we can't tell how it will turn
out. And of course, we can't go ahead with anything, until

103.

we know *that*.

The professor's face fell, and he sighed deeply.

Still, said Elizabeth Jones archly, If there were
someone who could go ahead and find out - some brave
fellow - some very wise man who hated plumbers -

The pills! cried the professor, clapping his
hands together.

The pills! cried Elizabeth Jones, clapping *her* hands together.

The pills! cried all the company, coming crowding
back into the room again and clapping *their* hands
together, while the professor dug into his pocket and
held aloft a single glowing opalescent globule. It was
a very dramatic moment, and so the professor climbed
on to the table and waved the pill above the shouting
people. The pills, he cried, the pills! and then being
unable to think of anything else to say, he took a
sudden bite of the pill and the faces grew dimmer and
dimmer, the clapping and the shouting fainter and
fainter, until again he was alone in the swift white
river of light. But this time there was no moment of
voyage, for so swift was the passage of a month that as
soon as he was in it, he was out of it again, alone
upon a raised platform in the open air above an angry,
tossing sea of people.

104.

... face to face with the plumber.

Now then, the plumber was saying to two huge
fellows who stood at either side of the platform, Pull
slowly - don't jerk - let him kick - gradual - gradual -
hup! And at once to his horror the professor felt
himself being lifted from the ground by some terrible
thing that coiled itself tighter and tighter about
his throat, squeezing, choking, thin and cutting ...

There was only one thing to do. Putting the
bottle to his lips he crammed his mouth with all the
remaining pills; the iron clutch upon his throat
relaxed, the sea of faces faded, the plumber disappeared...
White light, moving faster and faster, and he riding in it
like a great bird. ...

Well, said the professor, That's what comes of
things ... revolutions ...foolishness ...

He settled himself in Time and let his thoughts
run as they pleased, wondering at the fate of his friends,
of the Governor and the Governess and Elizabeth Jones ...
and the elephants ... wondering at his own miraculous
escape from hanging by the least fraction of a bite;
wondering how many pills he had eaten, and where they
would lead him ... and what would become of Sweet
Peep ... and ... and ... little by little the
wine of the dinner began to clarify, to sparkle, to
mount to his head ... little by little he grew

105.

merrier and merrier, drowsier and drowsier . . .

And in her house nearby the University of the
Lakes, which is in the state of Pennsylvania, the
widow of Christopher Krauss heard, far off and clear,
not in space but in time, not a sound remembered but
a sound anticipated, heard yet imagined, unearthly and
remote, passing somehow from the future through the
present *into the past*, a joyous, familiar, and
undeniable, *whee!*