THE OLD MAN WHO KNEW EVERYTHING
He was by a close at hand.
He sharply, and peering, saw a small, hunched-up a of yards off in the of the enclosure.
"Have ye any news?" asked the high-pitched voice of a very old man.
Graham hesitated. "None," he said.
"I here till the lights come again," said the old man. "These are everywhere—everywhere."
Graham's answer was assent. He to see the old man but the his face. He wanted very much to respond, to talk, but he did not know how to begin.
"Dark and damnable," said the old man suddenly. "Dark and damnable.
Turned out of my room among all these dangers."
"That's hard," Graham. "That's hard on you."
"Darkness. An old man in the darkness. And all the world gone mad. War and fighting. The police and abroad. Why don't they some to protect us? … No more dark passages for me. I over a man."
"You're with company," said the old man, "if it's company of the right sort," and frankly. He rose and came Graham.
Apparently the was satisfactory. The old man sat as if to be no longer alone. "Eh!" he said, "but this is a terrible time! War and fighting, and the there—men, men, in the dark. Sons! I have three sons. God where they are to-night."
The voice ceased. Then quavering: "God where they are to-night."
Graham a question that should not his ignorance.
Again the old man's voice ended the pause.
"This Ostrog will win," he said. "He will win. And what the world will be like under him no one can tell. My sons are under the wind-vanes, all three. One of my daughters-in-law was his for a while. His mistress! We're not common people. Though they've sent me to to-night and take my chance…. I what was going on. Before most people. But this darkness! And to over a in the dark!"
His be heard.
"Ostrog!" said Graham.
"The Boss the world has seen," said the voice.
Graham his mind. "The Council has friends among the people," he hazarded.
"Few friends. And ones at that. They've had their time. Eh! They should have to the ones. But twice they election. And Ostrog—. And now it has out and nothing can it, nothing can it. Twice they rejected Ostrog—Ostrog the Boss. I of his at the time—he was terrible. Heaven save them! For nothing on earth can now he has the Labour Companies upon them. No one else would have dared. All the and marching! He will go through with it. He will go through."
He was for a little while. "This Sleeper," he said, and stopped.
"Yes," said Graham. "Well?"
The voice to a whisper, the dim, came close. "The Sleeper—"
"Yes," said Graham.
"Died years ago."
"What?" said Graham, sharply.
"Years ago. Died. Years ago."
"You don't say so!" said Graham.
"I do. I do say so. He died. This Sleeper who's up—they in the night. A poor, creature. But I mustn't tell all I know. I mustn't tell all I know."
For a little while he inaudibly. His was too much for him. "I don't know the ones that put him to sleep—that was my time—but I know the man who the and him again. It was ten to one—wake or kill. Wake or kill. Ostrog's way."
Graham was so at these that he had to interrupt, to make the old man repeat his words, to re-question vaguely, he was sure of the meaning and of what he heard. And his had not been natural! Was that an old man's superstition, too, or had it any truth in it? Feeling in the dark of his memory, he presently came on something that might be an of some such effect. It upon him that he had upon a lucky encounter, that at last he might learn something of the new age. The old man and spat, and then the piping, voice resumed:
"The time they rejected him. I've it all."
"Rejected whom?" said Graham. "The Sleeper?"
"Sleeper? No. Ostrog. He was terrible—terrible! And he was promised then, promised the next time. Fools they were—not to be more of him. Now all the city's his millstone, and such as we ground upon it. Dust ground upon it. Until he set to work—the cut each other's throats, and a Chinaman or a Labour at times, and left the of us in peace. Dead bodies! Robbing! Darkness! Such a thing hasn't been this of years. Eh!—but 'tis on small when the great out! It's ill."
"Did you say—there had not been—what?—for a of years?"
"Eh?" said the old man.
The old man said something about his words, and him repeat this a third time. "Fighting and slaying, and in hand, and and the like," said the old man. "Not in all my life has there been that. These are like the old days—for sure—when the Paris people out—three of years ago. That's what I hasn't been. But it's the world's way. It had to come back. I know. I know. This five years Ostrog has been working, and there has been trouble and trouble, and and and high talk and arms. Blue and murmurs. No one safe. Everything and slipping. And now here we are! Revolt and fighting, and the Council come to its end."
"You are well-informed on these things," said Graham.
"I know what I hear. It isn't all Babble Machine with me."
"No," said Graham, what Babble Machine might be. "And you are this Ostrog—you are Ostrog this and for the of the Sleeper? Just to himself—because he was not elected to the Council?"
"Everyone that, I should think," said the old man. "Except—just fools. He meant to be master somehow. In the Council or not. Everyone who anything that. And here we are with in the dark! Why, where have you been if you haven't all about the trouble Ostrog and the Verneys? And what do you think the are about? The Sleeper? Eh? You think the Sleeper's and of his own accord—eh?"
"I'm a man, older than I look, and forgetful," said Graham. "Lots of that have happened—especially of late years—. If I was the Sleeper, to tell you the truth, I couldn't know less about them."
"Eh!" said the voice. "Old, are you? You don't so very old! But it's not his memory to my time of life—truly. But these things! But you're not so old as me—not nearly so old as me. Well! I ought not to judge other men by myself, perhaps. I'm young—for so old a man. Maybe you're old for so young."
"That's it," said Graham. "And I've a history. I know very little.
And history! Practically I know no history. The Sleeper and Julius
Caesar are all the same to me. It's to you talk of
these things."
"I know a things," said the old man. "I know a thing or two.
But—. Hark!"
The two men silent, listening. There was a thud, a that their seat shiver. The passers-by stopped, to one another. The old man was full of questions; he to a man who passed near. Graham, by his example, got up and others. None what had happened.
He returned to the seat and the old man in an undertone. For a while they said nothing to one another.
The of this struggle, so near and yet so remote, Graham's imagination. Was this old man right, was the report of the people right, and were the winning? Or were they all in error, and were the red all them? At any time the of might into this of the city and upon him again. It him to learn all he while there was time. He to the old man with a question and left it unsaid. But his motion moved the old man to speech again.
"Eh! but how work together!" said the old man. "This Sleeper that all the put their trust in! I've the whole history of it—I was always a good one for histories. When I was a boy—I'm that old—I used to read printed books. You'd think it. Likely you've none—they and so—and the Sanitary Company them to make ashlarite. But they were in their dirty way. One learnt a lot. These new-fangled Babble Machines—they don't new-fangled to you, eh?—they're easy to hear, easy to forget. But I've all the Sleeper from the first."
"You will it," said Graham slowly, "I'm so ignorant—I've been so in my own little affairs, my have been so odd—I know nothing of this Sleeper's history. Who was he?"
"Eh!" said the old man. "I know, I know. He was a nobody, and set on a woman, soul! And he into a trance. There's the old they had, those things—silver photographs—still him as he lay, a and a years ago—a and a of years."
"Set on a woman, soul," said Graham to himself, and then aloud, "Yes—well go on."
"You must know he had a named Warming, a man without children, who a big in roads—the Eadhamite roads. But surely you've heard? No? Why? He all the and a big company. In those days there were of of and companies. Grosses of grosses! His killed the railroads—the old things—in two dozen years; he up and Eadhamited the tracks. And he didn't want to up his great property or let in shareholders, he left it all to the Sleeper, and put it under a Board of Trustees that he had and trained. He then the Sleeper wouldn't wake, that he would go on sleeping, sleeping till he died. He that well! And plump! a man in the United States, who had two sons in a accident, that up with another great bequest. His themselves with a dozen of lions'-worth or more of property at the very beginning."
"What was his name?"
"Graham."
"No—I mean—that American's."
"Isbister."
"Isbister!" Graham. "Why, I don't know the name."
"Of not," said the old man. "Of not. People don't learn much in the nowadays. But I know all about him. He was a rich American who from England, and he left the Sleeper more than Warming. How he it? That I don't know. Something about pictures by machinery. But he it and left it, and so the Council had its start. It was just a of at first."
"And how did it grow?"
"Eh!—but you're not up to things. Money money—and twelve are than one. They played it cleverly. They politics with money, and on adding to the money by and tariffs. They grew—they grew. And for years the twelve the of the Sleeper's under names and company titles and all that. The Council spread by title deed, mortgage, share, every political party, every newspaper they bought. If you to the old you will see the Council and growing. Billions and of lions at last—the Sleeper's estate. And all out of a whim—out of this Warming's will, and an accident to Isbister's sons.
"Men are strange," said the old man. "The thing to me is how the Council together so long. As many as twelve. But they in from the first. And they've back. In my days speaking of the Council was like an man speaking of God. We didn't think they do wrong. We didn't know of their and all that! Or else I've got wiser.
"Men are strange," said the old man. "Here are you, and ignorant, and me—sevendy years old, and I might getting—explaining it all to you and clear.
"Sevendy," he said, "sevendy, and I and see—hear than I see. And clearly, and keep myself up to all the of things. Sevendy!
"Life is strange. I was Ostrog was a baby. I him long he'd pushed his way to the of the Wind Vanes Control. I've many changes. Eh! I've the blue. And at last I've come to see this and and and men by in on the ways. And all his doing! All his doing!"
His voice died away in of Ostrog.
Graham thought. "Let me see," he said, "if I have it right."
He a hand and off points upon his fingers. "The Sleeper has been asleep—"
"Changed," said the old man.
"Perhaps. And meanwhile the Sleeper's property in the hands of Twelve Trustees, until it up nearly all the great of the world. The Twelve Trustees—by of this property have masters of the world. Because they are the paying power—just as the old English Parliament used to be—"
"Eh!" said the old man. "That's so—that's a good comparison.
You're not so—"
"And now this Ostrog—has the world by the
Sleeper—whom no one but the superstitious, common people had dreamt
would wake again—raising the Sleeper to his property from the
Council, after all these years."
The old man this with a cough. "It's strange," he said, "to meet a man who these for the time to-night."
"Aye," said Graham, "it's strange."
"Have you been in a Pleasure City?" said the old man. "All my life I've longed—" He laughed. "Even now," he said, "I a little fun. Enjoy things, anyhow." He a Graham did not understand.
"The Sleeper—when did he awake?" said Graham suddenly.
"Three days ago."
"Where is he?"
"Ostrog has him. He from the Council not four hours ago. My dear sir, where were you at the time? He was in the of the markets—where the has been. All the city was about it. All the Babble Machines. Everywhere it was shouted. Even the who speak for the Council were it. Everyone was off to see him—everyone was arms. Were you or asleep? And then! But you're joking! Surely you're pretending. It was to stop the of the Babble Machines and prevent the people that they off the electricity—and put this upon us. Do you to say—?"
"I had the Sleeper was rescued," said Graham. "But—to come a minute. Are you sure Ostrog has him?"
"He won't let him go," said the old man.
"And the Sleeper. Are you sure he is not genuine? I have heard—"
"So all the think. So they think. As if there wasn't a thousand that were heard. I know Ostrog too well for that. Did I tell you? In a way I'm a of relation of Ostrog's. A of relation. Through my daughter-in-law."
"I suppose—"
"Well?"
"I there's no of this Sleeper himself. I he's to be a puppet—in Ostrog's hands or the Council's, as soon as the is over."
"In Ostrog's hands—certainly. Why shouldn't he be a puppet? Look at his position. Everything done for him, every possible. Why should he want to himself?"
"What are these Pleasure Cities?" said Graham, abruptly.
The old man him repeat the question. When at last he was of
Graham's words, he him violently. "That's too much," said he.
"You're fun at an old man. I've been you know more than
you pretend."
"Perhaps I do," said Graham. "But no! why should I go on acting? No, I do not know what a Pleasure City is."
The old man laughed in an way.
"What is more, I do not know how to read your letters, I do not know what money you use, I do not know what there are. I do not know where I am. I cannot count. I do not know where to food, drink, shelter."
"Come, come," said the old man, "if you had a of drink now, would you put it in your ear or your eye?"
"I want you to tell me all these things."
"He, he! Well, who dress in must have their fun." A hand Graham's arm for a moment. "Silk. Well, well! But, all the same, I wish I was the man who was put up as the Sleeper. He'll have a time of it. All the and pleasure. He's a looking face. When they used to let anyone go to see him, I've got and been. The image of the one, as the him, this used to be. Yellow. But he'll up. It's a world. Think of the luck of it. The luck of it. I he'll be sent to Capri. It's the best fun for a greener."
His him again. Then he of and delights. "The luck of it, the luck of it! All my life I've been in London, to my chance."
"But you don't know that the Sleeper died," said Graham, suddenly.
The old man him repeat his words.
"Men don't live ten dozen. It's not in the order of things," said the old man. "I'm not a fool. Fools may it, but not me."
Graham angry with the old man's assurance. "Whether you are a or not," he said, "it you are about the Sleeper."
"Eh?"
"You are about the Sleeper. I haven't told you before, but I will tell you now. You are about the Sleeper."
"How do you know? I you didn't know anything—not about
Pleasure Cities."
Graham paused.
"You don't know," said the old man. "How are you to know? It's very men—"
"I am the Sleeper."
He had to repeat it.
There was a pause. "There's a thing to say, sir, if you'll me. It might you into trouble in a time like this," said the old man.
Graham, dashed, his assertion.
"I was saying I was the Sleeper. That years and years ago I did, indeed, asleep, in a little stone-built village, in the days when there were hedgerows, and villages, and inns, and all the cut up into little pieces, little fields. Have you of those days? And it is I—I who speak to you—who again these four days since."
"Four days since!—the Sleeper! But they've got the Sleeper. They have him and they won't let him go. Nonsense! You've been talking up to now. I can see it as though I was there. There will be Lincoln like a just him; they won't let him go about alone. Trust them. You're a fellow. One of these fun pokers. I see now why you have been your so oddly, but—"
He stopped abruptly, and Graham see his gesture.
"As if Ostrog would let the Sleeper about alone! No, you're telling that to the man altogether. Eh! as if I should believe. What's your game? And besides, we've been talking of the Sleeper."
Graham up. "Listen," he said. "I am the Sleeper."
"You're an odd man," said the old man, "to here in the dark, talking clipped, and telling a of that sort. But—"
Graham's to laughter. "It is preposterous," he cried.
"Preposterous. The must end. It and wilder. Here am
I—in this twilight—I a in before—an
anachronism by two hundred years and trying to an old that
I am myself, and meanwhile—Ugh!"
He moved in and striding. In a moment the old man was him. "Eh! but don't go!" the old man. "I'm an old fool, I know. Don't go. Don't me in all this darkness."
Graham hesitated, stopped. Suddenly the of telling his into his mind.
"I didn't to you—disbelieving you," said the old man near. "It's no manner of harm. Call the Sleeper if it you. 'Tis a trick—"
Graham hesitated, and on his way.
For a time he the old man's and his receding. But at last the him, and Graham saw him no more.
