THE SOUND OF A TUMULT
Graham's last he was of the of bells. He learnt that he was insensible, life and death, for the part of an hour. When he his senses, he was on his couch, and there was a at and throat. The dark apparatus, he perceived, had been from his arm, which was bandaged. The white was still about him, but the that had it was gone. A man in a robe, one of those who had been on the balcony, was looking into his face.
Remote but was a of and sounds, that to his mind the picture of a great number of people together. Something to across this tumult, a door closed.
Graham moved his head. "What this all mean?" he said slowly.
"Where am I?"
He saw the red-haired man who had been to him. A voice to be what he had said, and was stilled.
The man in answered in a soft voice, speaking English with a
slightly accent, or so at least it to the Sleeper's ears.
"You are safe. You were from where you asleep.
It is safe. You have been here some time—sleeping. In a trance."
He said, something that Graham not hear, and a little was across to him. Graham a spray, a played over his for a moment, and his of increased. He closed his in satisfaction.
"Better?" asked the man in violet, as Graham's reopened. He was a pleasant-faced man of thirty, perhaps, with a pointed beard, and a of gold at the of his robe.
"Yes," said Graham.
"You have been asleep some time. In a trance. You have heard? Catalepsy? It may to you at first, but I can you is well."
Graham did not answer, but these their purpose. His from to of the three people about him. They were him strangely. He he ought to be in Cornwall, but he not square these with that impression.
A that had been in his mind his last moments at Boscastle recurred, a thing upon and somehow neglected. He his throat.
"Have you my cousin?" he asked. "E. Warming, 27, Chancery Lane?"
They were all to hear. But he had to repeat it. "What an odd in his accent!" the red-haired man. "Wire, sir?" said the man with the beard, puzzled.
"He means send an electric telegram," the third, a pleasant-faced of or twenty. The flaxen-bearded man gave a of comprehension. "How of me! You may be sure shall be done, sir," he said to Graham. "I am it would be difficult to—wire to your cousin. He is not in London now. But don't trouble about yet; you have been asleep a very long time and the thing is to over that, sir." (Graham the word was sir, but this man it "Sire.")
"Oh!" said Graham, and quiet.
It was all very puzzling, but these people in dress what they were about. Yet they were odd and the room was odd. It he was in some newly place. He had a of suspicion! Surely this wasn't some of public exhibition! If it was he would give Warming a piece of his mind. But it had that character. And in a place of public he would not have himself naked.
Then suddenly, abruptly, he what had happened. There was no of suspicion, no to his knowledge. Abruptly he that his had for a interval; as if by some of thought-reading he the in the that into his. He looked at them strangely, full of emotion. It they read his eyes. He his to speak and not. A to his knowledge came into his mind almost at the moment of his discovery. He looked at his feet, them silently. His to speak passed. He was exceedingly.
They gave him some pink with a and a taste, and the of returning grew.
"That—that makes me better," he said hoarsely, and there were of approval. He now clearly. He to speak again, and again he not.
He pressed his and a third time. "How long?" he asked in a level voice. "How long have I been asleep?"
"Some time," said the flaxen-bearded man, at the others.
"How long?"
"A very long time."
"Yes—yes," said Graham, testy. "But I want—Is it—it is—some years? Many years? There was something—I what. I feel—confused. But you—" He sobbed. "You need not with me. How long—?"
He stopped, irregularly. He his with his and sat waiting for an answer.
They spoke in undertones.
"Five or six?" he asked faintly. "More?"
"Very much more than that."
"More!"
"More."
He looked at them and it as though were the of his face. He looked his question.
"Many years," said the man with the red beard.
Graham into a position. He a tear from his with a hand. "Many years!" he repeated. He his tight, opened them, and sat looking about him from one thing to another.
"How many years?" he asked.
"You must be prepared to be surprised."
"Well?"
"More than a of years."
He was at the word. "More than a what?"
Two of them spoke together. Some quick that were about "decimal" he did not catch.
"How long did you say?" asked Graham. "How long? Don't look like that. Tell me."
Among the in an undertone, his ear six words: "More than a of centuries."
"What?" he cried, on the who he had spoken. "Who says—? What was that? A of centuries!"
"Yes," said the man with the red beard. "Two hundred years."
Graham the words. He had been prepared to of a repose, and yet these centuries him.
"Two hundred years," he said again, with the of a great opening very slowly in his mind; and then, "Oh, but—!"
They said nothing.
"You—did you say—?"
"Two hundred years. Two centuries of years," said the man with the red beard.
There was a pause. Graham looked at their and saw that what he had was true.
"But it can't be," he said querulously. "I am dreaming. Trances—trances
don't last. That is not right—this is a joke you have played upon me!
Tell me—some days ago, perhaps, I was walking along the of
Cornwall—?"
His voice failed him.
The man with the hesitated. "I'm not very in history, sir," he said weakly, and at the others.
"That was it, sir," said the youngster. "Boscastle, in the old Duchy of Cornwall—it's in the south-west country the dairy meadows. There is a house there still. I have been there."
"Boscastle!" Graham his to the youngster. "That was it—Boscastle. Little Boscastle. I asleep—somewhere there. I don't remember. I don't remember."
He pressed his and whispered, "More than two hundred years!"
He to speak with a face, but his was cold him. "But if it is two hundred years, every I know, every being that I saw or spoke to I to sleep, must be dead."
They did not answer him.
"The Queen and the Royal Family, her Ministers, Church and State. High and low, rich and poor, one with another … Is there England still?"
"That's a comfort! Is there London?"
"This is London, eh? And you are my assistant-custodian; assistant-custodian. And these—? Eh? Assistant-custodians too!"
He sat with a on his face. "But why am I here? No! Don't talk. Be quiet. Let me—"
He sat silent, his eyes, and, them, another little of him. He took the dose. Directly he had taken it he to naturally and refreshingly.
Presently he looked at their faces, laughed through his tears, a little foolishly. "But—two—hun—dred—years!" he said. He and his again.
After a space he calm. He sat up, his hands over his in almost the same in which Isbister had him on the at Pentargen. His attention was by a thick voice, the of an personage. "What are you doing? Why was I not warned? Surely you tell? Someone will for this. The man must be quiet. Are the closed? All the doorways? He must be perfectly quiet. He must not be told. Has he been told anything?"
The man with the some remark, and Graham looking over his saw a short, fat, and man, with nose and and chin. Very thick black and that almost met over his nose and eyes, gave his an expression. He at Graham and then his returned to the man with the beard. "These others," he said in a voice of irritation. "You had go."
"Go?" said the red-bearded man.
"Certainly—go now. But see the are closed as you go."
The two men obediently, after one at Graham, and of going through the as he expected, walked to the of the opposite the archway. A long of this solid rolled up with a snap, over the two men and again, and Graham was alone with the and the purple-robed man with the beard.
For a space the man took not the notice of Graham, but to the other—obviously his subordinate—-upon the of their charge. He spoke clearly, but in phrases only to Graham. The not only a of but of and to him. He was excited.
"You must not his mind by telling him things," he again and again. "You must not his mind."
His questions answered, he and the with an expression.
"Feel queer?" he asked.
"Very."
"The world, what you see of it, to you?"
"I I have to live in it, as it seems."
"I so, now."
"In the place, hadn't I have some clothes?"
"They—" said the man and stopped, and the flaxen-bearded man met his and away. "You will very have clothes," said the man.
"Is it true indeed, that I have been asleep two hundred—?" asked Graham.
"They have told you that, have they? Two hundred and three, as a of fact."
Graham the now with and mouth. He sat for a moment, and then asked a question, "Is there a or near here?" He did not wait for an answer. "Things have tremendously, I suppose?" he said.
"What is that shouting?" he asked abruptly.
"Nothing," said the man impatiently. "It's people. You'll later—perhaps. As you say, have changed." He spoke shortly, his were knit, and he about him like a man trying to decide in an emergency. "We must you and so forth, at any rate. Better wait here until they can be procured. No one will come near you. You want shaving."
Graham his chin.
The man with the came them, suddenly, for a moment, his at the older man, and off through the the balcony. The of louder, and the man and also. He under his breath, and his upon Graham with an expression. It was a of many voices, and falling, and screaming, and once came a like and cries, and then a like the of sticks. Graham his ears to some single of from the tumult.
Then he perceived, again and again, a formula. For a time he his ears. But surely these were the words: "Show us the Sleeper! Show us the Sleeper!"
The man to the archway.
"Wild!" he cried. "How do they know? Do they know? Or is it guessing?"
There was an answer.
"I can't come," said the man; "I have him to see to. But from the balcony."
There was an reply.
"Say he is not awake. Anything! I it to you."
He came to Graham. "You must have at once," he said. "You cannot stop here—and it will be to—"
He away, Graham questions after him. In a moment he was back.
"I can't tell you what is happening. It is too to explain. In a moment you shall have your made. Yes—in a moment. And then I can take you away from here. You will out our soon enough."
"But those voices. They were shouting—?"
"Something about the Sleeper—that's you. They have some idea. I don't know what it is. I know nothing."
A across the of noises, and this person to a little group of in the of the room. He for a moment, a of crystal, nodded, and said a words; then he walked to the through which the two men had vanished. It rolled up again like a curtain, and he waiting.
Graham his arm and was to what the had him. He one leg over the of the and then the other. His no longer swam. He his recovery. He sat his limbs.
The man with the re-entered from the archway, and as he did so the of a came in of the man, and a lean, grey-bearded man, a roll, and a tightly-fitting of dark green, appeared therein.
"This is the tailor," said the man with an gesture. "It will do for you to wear that black. I cannot how it got here. But I shall. I shall. You will be as as possible?" he said to the tailor.
The man in green bowed, and, advancing, seated himself by Graham on the bed. His manner was calm, but his were full of curiosity. "You will the fashions altered, Sire," he said. He from under his at the man.
He opened the with a quick movement, and a of out over his knees. "You lived, Sire, in a period cylindrical—the Victorian. With a to the in hats. Circular always. Now—" He out a little the size and of a watch, the knob, and behold—a little in white appeared fashion on the dial, walking and turning. The tailor up a pattern of white satin. "That is my of your treatment," he said.
The man came and by the of Graham.
"We have very little time," he said.
"Trust me," said the tailor. "My machine follows. What do you think of this?"
"What is that?" asked the man from the nineteenth century.
"In your days they you a fashion-plate," said the tailor, "but this is our modern development. See here." The little its evolutions, but in a different costume. "Or this," and with a another small in a more type of on to the dial. The tailor was very quick in his movements, and twice the as he did these things.
It again, and a crop-haired with of the Chinese type, in canvas, appeared together with a machine, which he pushed on little into the room. Incontinently the little was dropped, Graham was to in of the machine and the tailor some to the crop-haired lad, who answered in and with Graham did not recognise. The boy then to an in the corner, and the tailor out a number of arms in little discs, them out until the were against the of Graham, one at each blade, one at the elbows, one at the and so forth, so that at last there were, perhaps, two score of them upon his and limbs. At the same time, some other person entered the room by the lift, Graham. The tailor set moving a that a faint-sounding movement of parts in the machine, and in another moment he was up the and Graham was released. The tailor replaced his of black, and the man with the him a little of some fluid. Graham saw over the of the a pale-faced man him with a fixity.
The man had been the room fretfully, and now and through the the balcony, from which the noise of a still came in and cadences. The crop-headed the tailor a roll of the and the two this in the in a manner of a roll of paper in a nineteenth century machine. Then they ran the entire thing on its easy, noiseless across the room to a where a from the wall. They some and the machine and swift.
"What is that doing?" asked Graham, pointing with the empty to the and trying to the of the new comer. "Is that—some of force—laid on?"
"Yes," said the man with the beard.
"Who is that?" He the him.
The man in his little beard, hesitated, and answered in an undertone, "He is Howard, your guardian. You see, Sire—it's a little difficult to explain. The Council a and assistants. This has under restrictions been public. In order that people might satisfy themselves. We have the for the time. But I think—if you don't mind, I will him to explain."
"Odd!" said Graham. "Guardian? Council?" Then his on the new comer, he asked in an undertone, "Why is this man at me? Is he a mesmerist?"
"Mesmerist! He is a capillotomist."
"Capillotomist!"
"Yes—one of the chief. His yearly is lions."
It nonsense. Graham at the last phrase with an mind. "Sixdoz lions?" he said.
"Didn't you have lions? I not. You had the old pounds? They are our units."
"But what was that you said—sixdoz?"
"Yes. Six dozen, Sire. Of things, these little things, have altered. You in the days of the system, the Arab system—tens, and little hundreds and thousands. We have eleven now. We have single for ten and eleven, two for a dozen, and a dozen dozen makes a gross, a great hundred, you know, a dozen a dozand, and a dozand a myriad. Very simple?"
"I so," said Graham. "But about this cap—what was it?"
The man with the over his shoulder.
"Here are your clothes!" he said. Graham and saw the tailor at his smiling, and some new over his arm. The crop-headed boy, by means of one ringer, was the machine the by which he had arrived. Graham at the suit. "You don't to say—!"
"Just made," said the tailor. He the at the of Graham, walked to the bed, on which Graham had so been lying, out the mattress, and up the looking-glass. As he did so a the man to the corner. The man with the across to him and then out by the archway.
The tailor was Graham into a dark garment, stockings, vest, and in one, as the man came from the to meet the man with the returning from the balcony. They speaking in an undertone, their had an quality of anxiety. Over the under-garment came a of white, and Graham, was in the fashion once more and saw himself, sallow-faced, and still, but at least no longer, and in some way graceful.
"I must shave," he said himself in the glass.
"In a moment," said Howard.
The ceased. The man closed his eyes, reopened them, and with a hand extended, on Graham. Then he stopped, with his hand slowly gesticulating, and looked about him.
"A seat," said Howard impatiently, and in a moment the flaxen-bearded man had a chair Graham. "Sit down, please," said Howard.
Graham hesitated, and in the other hand of the wild-eyed man he saw the of steel.
"Don't you understand, Sire?" the flaxen-bearded man with politeness. "He is going to cut your hair."
"Oh!" Graham enlightened. "But you called him—"
"A capillotomist—precisely! He is one of the in the world."
Graham sat abruptly. The flaxen-bearded man disappeared. The came forward, Graham's ears and him, the of his head, and would have sat again to him but for Howard's impatience. Forthwith with movements and a of he Graham's chin, his moustache, and cut and his hair. All this he did without a word, with something of the air of a inspired. And as soon as he had Graham was a pair of shoes.
Suddenly a loud voice shouted—it from a piece of in the corner—"At once—at once. The people know all over the city. Work is being stopped. Work is being stopped. Wait for nothing, but come."
This appeared to Howard exceedingly. By his it to Graham that he two directions. Abruptly he the where the about the little ball. As he did so the of from the that had all these rose to a sound, as if it were past, and again as if swiftly. It Graham after it with an attraction. He at the man, and then his impulse. In two he was the steps and in the passage, and in a score he was out upon the upon which the three men had been standing.
