IN THE CITY WAYS
And that night, unknown and unsuspected, Graham, in the of an wind-vane official holiday, and by Asano in Labour Department canvas, the city through which he had when it was in darkness. But now he saw it and waking, a of life. In of the and of the of revolution, in of the discontent, the of the of which the was but the prelude, the of still wide and strong. He now something of the and quality of the new age, but he was not prepared for the of the view, for the of colour and that past him.
This was his with the people of these days. He that all that had gone before, saving his of the public theatres and markets, had had its of seclusion, had been a movement the narrow political quarter, that all his previous had about the question of his own position. But here was the city at the hours of night, the people to a large returned to their own interests, the of the life, the common of the new time.
They at into a opposite were with the liveries. This Graham saw was a of a procession—it was odd to see a the city seated. They of black with red letters. "No disarmament," said the banners, for the most part in and with spelling, and "Why should we disarm?" "No disarming." "No disarming." Banner after banner by, a of past, and at last at the end, the song of the and a noisy of instruments. "They all ought to be at work," said Asano. "They have had no food these two days, or they have it."
Presently Asano a to avoid the that upon the occasional passage of from hospital to a mortuary, the after death's of the revolt.
That night people were sleeping, was abroad. A excitement, changing, Graham; his mind was and by an tumult, by the and of the social that was as yet only beginning. Everywhere and of black and decorations, the quality of his popularity. Everywhere he of that thick that the class, the class, that is, the of culture, in their intercourse. Everywhere this trouble of was in the air, with a quality of of which he had no his in the Wind-Vane quarter. He that as soon as he returned he must discuss this with Ostrog, this and the of which it was the expression, in a more way than he had so done. Perpetually that night, in the hours of their about the city, the of and his attention, to the of he might otherwise have observed.
This his fragmentary. Yet so much that was and vivid, no subject, personal and insistent, sway. There were when the movement passed clean out of his mind, was like a from some new of the time. Helen had his mind to this of enquiry, but there came times when she, even, his thoughts. At one moment, for example, he they were the religious quarter, for the easy about the city by the moving churches and no longer necessary—and his attention was by the façade of one of the Christian sects.
They were seated on one of the upper ways, the place upon them at a and them. It was with from top to base, in white and blue, save where a and presented a New Testament scene, and where a of black to that the popular religion the popular politics, across the lettering. Graham had already familiar with the and these him, being to his for the most part almost blasphemy. Among the less were "Salvation on the First Floor and turn to the Right." "Put your Money on your Maker." "The Sharpest Conversion in London, Expert Operators! Look Slippy!" "What Christ would say to the Sleeper;—Join the Up-to-date Saints!" "Be a Christian—without to your present Occupation." "All the Brightest Bishops on the Bench to-night and Prices as Usual." "Brisk Blessings for Busy Business Men."
"But this is appalling!" said Graham, as that of above them.
"What is appalling?" asked his little officer, for anything in this enamel.
"This! Surely the of religion is reverence."
"Oh that!" Asano looked at Graham. "Does it you?" he said in the of one who makes a discovery. "I it would, of course. I had forgotten. Nowadays the for attention is so keen, and people haven't the to to their souls, you know, as they used to do." He smiled. "In the old days you had Sabbaths and the countryside. Though I've read of Sunday afternoons that—"
"But that," said Graham, at the and white.
"That is surely not the only—"
"There are hundreds of different ways. But, of course, if a doesn't tell it doesn't pay. Worship has moved with the times. There are high class with ways—costly and personal and all that. These people are popular and prosperous. They pay dozen lions for those to the Council—to you, I should say."
Graham still a with the coinage, and this mention of a dozen lions him to that matter. In a moment the temples and their were in this new interest. A turn of a phrase suggested, and an answer the idea that gold and were demonetised, that gold which had its the merchants of Phoenicia was at last dethroned. The had been but swift, about by an of the of that had in his previous life already gold in all the larger transactions. The common traffic of the city, the common of all the world, was by means of the little brown, green and pink for small amounts, printed with a blank payee. Asano had with him, and at the opportunity he the in his set. They were printed not on paper, but on a semi-transparent of flexibility, with silk. Across them all a of Graham's signature, his with the and of that familiar for two hundred and three years.
Some no to prevent the of the his again; a picture of a Theosophist temple that promised MIRACLES in of fire was least perhaps, but then came the view of the in Northumberland Avenue. That him very greatly.
By the energy and of Asano he was able to view this place from a little screened for the of the tables. The was by a hooting, and bawling, of which he did not at the import, but which a voice he had after the of the lights on the night of his wandering.
He had to and great numbers of people, this him for a long time. It was as he the table service more beneath, and with many questions and details, that the of the full of the of thousand people came to him.
It was his to that points that one might have to at the very to him until some detail as a and pointed to the thing he had overlooked. He only now that this of the city, this of weather, these and ways, the of the household; that the Victorian "Home," the little and scullery, rooms and bedrooms, had, save for the that the countryside, as surely as the hut. But now he saw what had been from the first, that London, as a place, was no longer an of houses but a hotel, an hotel with a thousand of accommodation, thousands of halls, chapels, theatres, markets and places of assembly, a of enterprises, of which he was the owner. People had their sleeping rooms, with, it might be, antechambers, rooms that were always at least the of and privacy, and for the they much as many people had in the new-made of the Victorian days, eating, reading, thinking, playing, conversing, all in places of public resort, going to their work in the of the city or doing in their offices in the section.
He at once how necessarily this of had from the Victorian city. The for the modern city had been the economy of co-operation. The thing to prevent the of the in his own was the still of the people, the pride, passions, and prejudices, the jealousies, rivalries, and of the middle and classes, which had the entire of households. But the change, the of the people, had been in progress then. In his thirty years of previous life he had an of the of from home, the horse-box coffee-house had place to the open and Aerated Bread Shop for instance, women's had had their beginning, and an of reading rooms, and had to the of social confidence. These promises had by this time to their complete fulfilment. The locked and had passed away.
These people him belonged, he learnt, to the middle class, the class just above the labourers, a class so in the Victorian period to with every of that its members, when occasion them with a public meal, would their under or a demeanour. But these gaily, if people below, vivacious, and uncommunicative, were and at their with to one another.
He noted a thing; the table, as as he see, was and neat, there was nothing to the confusion, the crumbs, the of and condiment, the drink and ornaments, which would have marked the progress of the Victorian meal. The table was very different. There were no ornaments, no flowers, and the table was without a cloth, being made, he learnt, of a solid having the and of damask. He that this was patterned with designed advertisements.
In a of each was a of and metal. There was one plate of white porcelain, and by means of for and cold the this himself the courses; he also his white metal knife and and spoon as occasion required.
Soup and the chemical that was the common drink were delivered by taps, and the in the table along rails. The stopped these and helped himself at his discretion. They appeared at a little door at one end of the table, and at the other. That turn of in decay, that of souls, which equals to wait on one another, was very he among these people. He was so with these that it was only as he was the place that he the that along the upper and the most commodities.
Beyond this place they came into a hall, and he the of the noise that had him. They paused at a at which a payment was made.
Graham's attention was by a violent, loud hoot, by a voice. "The Master is sleeping peacefully," it vociferated. "He is in excellent health. He is going to the of his life to aeronautics. He says are more than ever. Galloop! Wow! Our him measure. Beyond all measure. Galloop. He puts great trust in Boss Ostrog, in Boss Ostrog. Ostrog is to be his minister; is to remove or public officers—all will be in his hands. All in the hands of Boss Ostrog! The Councillors have been sent to their own prison above the Council House."
Graham stopped at the sentence, and, looking up, a from which this was brayed. This was the General Intelligence Machine. For a space it to be breath, and a regular from its was audible. Then it "Galloop, Galloop," and out again.
"Paris is now pacified. All is over. Galloop! The black police every position of in the city. They with great bravery, in of their by the Kipling. Once or twice they got out of hand, and and and insurgents, men and women. Moral—don't go rebelling. Haha! Galloop, Galloop! They are fellows. Lively fellows. Let this be a lesson to the of this city. Yah! Banderlog! Filth of the earth! Galloop, Galloop!"
The voice ceased. There was a of among the crowd. "Damned niggers." A man to near them. "Is this the Master's doing, brothers? Is this the Master's doing?"
"Black police!" said Graham. "What is that? You don't mean—"
Asano touched his arm and gave him a look, and another of these and gave in a voice. "Yahaha, Yahah, Yap! Hear a live paper yelp! Live paper. Yaha! Shocking in Paris. Yahahah! The Parisians by the black police to the of assassination. Dreadful reprisals. Savage times come again. Blood! Blood! Yaha!" The nearer Babble Machine stupendously, "Galloop, Galloop," the end of the sentence, and in a note than with on the of disorder. "Law and order must be maintained," said the nearer Babble Machine.
"But," Graham.
"Don't ask questions here," said Asano, "or you will be in an argument."
"Then let us go on," said Graham, "for I want to know more of this."
As he and his pushed their way through the that these voices, the exit, Graham more the and of this room. Altogether, great and small, there must have been nearly a thousand of these erections, piping, hooting, and in that great space, each with its of listeners, the majority of them men in canvas. There were all of machines, from the little that out in odd corners, through a number of to such fifty-foot as that which had over Graham.
This place was crowded, of the public in the of in Paris. Evidently the had been much more than Ostrog had it. All the were upon that topic, and the of the people the with such phrases as "Lynched policemen," "Women alive," "Fuzzy Wuzzy." "But the Master allow such things?" asked a man near him. "Is this the of the Master's rule?"
Is this the of the Master's rule? For a long time after he had left the place, the hooting, and of the him; "Galloop, Galloop," "Yahahah, Yaha, Yap! Yaha!" Is this the of the Master's rule?
Directly they were out upon the he to question Asano closely on the nature of the Parisian struggle. "This disarmament! What was their trouble? What it all mean?" Asano to him that it was "all right."
"But these outrages!"
"You cannot have an omelette," said Asano, "without eggs. It is only the people. Only in one part of the city. All the is all right. The Parisian are the in the world, ours."
"What! the Londoners?"
"No, the Japanese. They have to be in order."
"But alive!"
"A Commune!" said Asano. "They would you of your property. They would do away with property and give the world over to rule. You are Master, the world is yours. But there will be no Commune here. There is no need for black police here.
"And every has been shown. It is their own negroes—French speaking negroes. Senegal regiments, and Niger and Timbuctoo."
"Regiments?" said Graham, "I there was only one—"
"No," said Asano, and at him. "There is more than one."
Graham helpless.
"I did not think," he and stopped abruptly. He off at a to ask for about these Babble Machines. For the most part, the present had been or dressed, and Graham learnt that so as the more were concerned, in all the more private of the city were Babble Machines that would speak directly a was pulled. The of the this with the of any of the great News Syndicates that he preferred. When he learnt this presently, he the of their from his own of apartments. Asano was embarrassed. "I thought," he said. "Ostrog must have had them removed."
Graham stared. "How was I to know?" he exclaimed.
"Perhaps he they would you," said Asano.
"They must be replaced directly I return," said Graham after an interval.
He a in that this news room and the were not great places, that such were almost all over the city. But and again the night's his ears would out from the of the the of the organ of Boss Ostrog, "Galloop, Galloop!" or the "Yahaha, Yaha Yap!—Hear a live paper yelp!" of its rival.
Repeated, too, everywhere, were such crèches as the one he now entered. It was by a lift, and by a that across the and the at a angle. To enter the of the place the use of his under Asano's direction. They were to by a man in a and gold clasp, the of medical men. He from this man's manner that his identity was known, and to ask questions on the of the place without reserve.
On either of the passage, which was and padded, as if to the footfall, were narrow little doors, their size and of the of a Victorian prison. But the upper of each door was of the same that had him at his awakening, and within, seen, lay, in every case, a very in a little of wadding. Elaborate the and a away in the office at the from the of temperature and moisture. A of such crèches had almost replaced the of the old-world nursing. The presently called Graham's attention to the wet nurses, a of figures, with arms, shoulders, and of modelling, articulation, and texture, but below, and having in the place of a likely to be of to mothers.
Of all the that Graham came upon that night, none more upon his of than this place. The of the little pink creatures, their in movements, left alone, without or endearment, was to him. The doctor was of a different opinion. His that in the Victorian times the most passage of life was the arms of the mother, that there had been most terrible. On the other hand this crèche company, the International Crèche Syndicate, not one-half cent, of the or so that its care. But Graham's was too for those figures.
Along one of the many passages of the place they presently came upon a in the through the and laughing at the of their first-born. Graham's must have his of them, for their and they looked abashed. But this little his of the his of and the of the new age. He passed on to the rooms and the Kindergarten, and distressed. He the long were empty! the latter-day children at least still their nights in sleep. As they through these, the little officer pointed out the nature of the toys, of those by that Froebel. There were here, but much was done by that sang and and dandled.
Graham was still not clear upon many points. "But so many orphans," he said perplexed, to a misconception, and learnt again that they were not orphans.
So soon as they had left the crèche he to speak of the the in their cases had him. "Is gone?" he said. "Was it a cant? Surely it was an instinct. This so unnatural—abominable almost."
"Along here we shall come to the dancing place," said Asano by way of reply. "It is sure to be crowded. In of all the political it will be crowded. The take no great in politics—except a here and there. You will see the mothers—most in London are mothers. In that class it is a thing to have one child—a proof of animation. Few middle class people have more than one. With the Labour Department it is different. As for motherhood! They still take an in the children. They come here to look at them often."
"Then do you that the population of the World—?"
"Is falling? Yes. Except among the people under the Labour Department. In of scientific they are reckless—"
The air was dancing with music, and a way they approached obliquely, set with as it of clear amethyst, a of people and a of and laughter. He saw heads, brows, and a happy of pass across the picture.
"You will see," said Asano with a smile. "The world has changed. In a moment you will see the mothers of the new age. Come this way. We shall see those again very soon."
They a in a lift, and to a slower one. As they on the music upon them, until it was near and full and splendid, and, moving with its they the of dancing feet. They a payment at a turnstile, and upon the wide that the dancing place, and upon the full of and sight.
"Here," said Asano, "are the fathers and mothers of the little ones you saw."
The was not so as that of the Atlas, but saving that, it was, for its size, the most Graham had seen. The white-limbed that supported the him once more of the of sculpture; they to in attitudes, their laughed. The of the music that the place was hidden, and the whole was thick with dancing couples. "Look at them," said the little officer, "see how much they of motherhood."
The they upon ran along the upper of a screen that cut the dancing on one from a of that through the of the city ways. In this was a great of less people, as almost as those who within, the great majority the of the Labour Department that was now so familiar to Graham. Too to pass the to the festival, they were yet unable to keep away from the of its seductions. Some of them had spaces, and were dancing also, their in the air. Some as they danced, and odd Graham did not understand. Once someone the of the song, but it as though that was suppressed. The was dark and Graham not see. He to the again. Above the were marble of men that age great and pioneers; for the most part their names were to Graham, though he Grant Allen, Le Gallienne, Nietzsche, Shelley and Goodwin. Great black and the that the upper end of the dancing place, and that "The Festival of the Awakening" was in progress.
"Myriads are taking or from work of that, from the who to go back," said Asano. "These people are always for holidays."
Graham walked to the and over, looking at the dancers. Save for two or three couples, who had apart, he and his had the to themselves. A warm of and came up to him. Both men and were clad, bare-armed, open-necked, as the of the city permitted. The of the men was often a of curls, their were always shaven, and many of them had or cheeks. Many of the were very pretty, and all were with coquetry. As they by beneath, he saw with closed in pleasure.
"What of people are these?" he asked abruptly.
"Workers—prosperous workers. What you would have called the middle class. Independent with little have long ago, but there are store servers, managers, of a hundred sorts. To-night is a of course, and every dancing place in the city will be crowded, and every place of worship."
"But—the women?"
"The same. There's a thousand of work for now. But you had the of the working-woman in your days. Most are now. Most of these are married more or less—there are a number of methods of contract—and that them more money, and them to themselves."
"I see," said Graham, looking at the faces, the and of movement, and still of that of pink limbs. "And these are—mothers."
"Most of them."
"The more I see of these the more I your problems.
This, for instance, is a surprise. That news from Paris was a surprise."
In a little while he spoke again:
"These are mothers. Presently, I suppose, I shall into the modern way of things. I have old of mind about me—habits based, I suppose, on needs that are over and done with. Of course, in our time, a woman was not only to children, but to them, to herself to them, to educate them—all the of and education a child its mother. Or without. Quite a number, I admit, without. Nowadays, clearly, there is no more need for such than if they were butterflies. I see that! Only there was an ideal—that of a grave, patient woman, and of a home, mother and maker of men—to love her was a of worship—"
He stopped and repeated, "A of worship."
"Ideals change," said the little man, "as needs change."
Graham from an and Asano his words.
Graham's mind returned to the thing at hand.
"Of I see the perfect of this. Restraint, soberness, the thought, the act, they are of the state, the life of dangers. Dourness is man's to nature. But man has nature now for all practical purposes—his political are managed by Bosses with a black police—and life is joyous."
He looked at the dancers again. "Joyous," he said.
"There are moments," said the little officer, reflectively.
"They all look young. Down there I should be visibly the man. And in my own time I should have passed as middle-aged."
"They are young. There are old people in this class in the work cities."
"How is that?"
"Old people's are not so as they used to be, unless they are rich to lovers and helpers. And we have an called Euthanasy."
"Ah! that Euthanasy!" said Graham. "The easy death?"
"The easy death. It is the last pleasure. The Euthanasy Company it well. People will pay the sum—it is a thing—long beforehand, go off to some city and return and weary, very weary."
"There is a left for me to understand," said Graham after a pause. "Yet I see the logic of it all. Our of angry and was the of and insecurity. The Stoic, the Puritan, in my time, were types. In the old days man was against Pain, now he is for Pleasure. There the difference. Civilisation has pain and so off—for well-to-do people. And only well-to-do people now. I have been asleep two hundred years."
For a minute they on the balustrading, the of the dance. Indeed the was very beautiful.
"Before God," said Graham, suddenly, "I would be a in the than one of these painted fools!"
"In the snow," said Asano, "one might think differently."
"I am uncivilised," said Graham, not him. "That is the trouble. I am primitive—Paleolithic. Their of and and anger is sealed and closed, the of a lifetime make them and easy and delightful. You must with my nineteenth century and disgusts. These people, you say, are and so forth. And while these dance, men are fighting—men are in Paris to keep the world—that they may dance."
Asano faintly. "For that matter, men are in London," he said.
There was a moment's silence.
"Where do these sleep?" asked Graham.
"Above and below—an warren."
"And where do they work? This is—the life."
"You will see little work to-night. Half the are out or under arms. Half these people are holiday. But we will go to the work places if you wish it."
For a time Graham the dancers, then away. "I want to see the workers. I have of these," he said.
Asano the way along the across the dancing hall. Presently they came to a passage that a of fresher, air.
Asano at this passage as they past, stopped, to it, and to Graham with a smile. "Here, Sire," he said, "is something—will be familiar to you at least—and yet—. But I will not tell you. Come!"
He the way along a closed passage that presently cold. The of their told that this passage was a bridge. They came into a that was in from the weather, and so a which familiar, though Graham not when he had entered it before. In this was a ladder—the he had since his awakening—up which they went, and came into a high, dark, cold place in which was another almost ladder. This they ascended, Graham still perplexed.
But at the top he understood, and the to which he clung. He was in the under the of St. Paul's. The rose but a little way above the of the city, into the still twilight, and away, under a lights, into a of darkness.
Out the he looked upon the wind-clear northern sky and saw the all unchanged. Capella in the west, Vega was rising, and the seven points of the Great Bear overhead in their circle about the Pole.
He saw these in a clear of sky. To the east and south the great of wind-wheels out the heavens, so that the about the Council House was hidden. To the Orion, like a through a of iron-work and above a of lights. A and that came from the the world that one of the was to start. He for a space the stage. Then his to the constellations.
For a long time he was silent. "This," he said at last, in the shadow, "seems the thing of all. To in the of St. Paul's and look once more upon these familiar, stars!"
Thence Graham was taken by Asano along to the great and where the of the in the city were and made. It him as a well-nigh series of very high halls, by upon of into which opened thousands of offices, and by a of bridges, footways, rails, and and leaps. And here more than the note of vitality, of uncontrollable, activity, rose high. Everywhere was advertisement, until his brain at the of light and colour. And Babble Machines of a were and the air with and an slang. "Skin your and slide," "Gewhoop, Bonanza," "Gollipers come and hark!"
The place to him to be with people either or with cunning, yet he learnt that the place was empty, that the great political of the last days had transactions to an minimum. In one place were long of tables, each with an excited, about it; in another a Babel of white-faced and red-necked leathery-lunged men and the of an which, every five minutes, paid a of ten cent, and a of its by means of a lottery wheel.
These were with an energy that passed into violence, and Graham a at its centre a of merchants in with teeth and on some point of etiquette. Something still in life to be for. Further he had a at a in of flame, each twice the of a man, that "WE ASSURE THE PROPRAIET'R. WE ASSURE THE PROPRAIET'R."
"Who's the proprietor?" he asked.
"You."
"But what do they me?" he asked. "What do they me?"
"Didn't you have assurance?"
Graham thought. "Insurance?"
"Yes—Insurance. I that was the older word. They are your life. Dozands of people are taking out policies, of lions are being put on you. And on other people are annuities. They do that on who is at all prominent. Look there!"
A of people and roared, and Graham saw a black screen in still larger of purple. "Anuetes on the Propraiet'r—x 5 pr. G." The people to and at this, a number of hard breathing, wild-eyed men came past, with at the air. There was a about a little doorway.
Asano did a brief, calculation. "Seventeen cent, is their on you. They would not pay so much cent, if they see you now, Sire. But they do not know. Your own used to be a very safe investment, but now you are gambling, of course. This is a bid. I if people will their money."
The of would-be so thick about them that for some time they move neither backward. Graham noticed what appeared to him to be a high of among the speculators, and was again of the economic of their sex. They well able to take of themselves in the crowd, using their with particular skill, as he learnt to his cost. One curly-headed person in the pressure for a space, looked at him times, almost as if she him, and then, him, touched his hand with her arm in a manner, and it plain by a look as as Chaldea that he had in her eyes. And then a lank, grey-bearded man, in a of self-help, to all save that bait, them in a that "X 5 pr. G."
"I want to out of this," said Graham to Asano. "This is not what I came to see. Show me the workers. I want to see the people in blue. These lunatics—"
He himself into a of people.
