the fate of Mars. He was speaking in his quick, decisive way with many gesticulations.
“I repeat for the benefit of any tardy listeners that Earth is about to suffer the fate of Mars. I will take no time for any scientific explanations. You have had those in the past and many of you have scoffed at them. It is enough to tell you positively that we are leaving the sun at a terrific rate of speed and are plunging into the void of the great Universe. What will be the end no man knows. Our fate rests in the hands of God.
“Now hear, my friends, and I hope the whole world is listening to what I say: Choose wisely for quarters where you will have a large supply of food, water and fuel (whether you use atomic energy, electricity, oil, or even the old-fashioned coal). I advise all electrical power stations to be used as stations of supply, and the men working there will be the real heroes who will save the members of their respective communities. Those who possess atomic heat machines are indeed fortunate. There is no time for detailed directions. Go—and may your conduct be such that it will be for the future salvation of the human race in this crisis.”
The picture faded, leaving us staring with white faces at one another.
“I’ll get the children,” screamed Vera, but I caught her arm.
“You’ll do nothing of the kind. We must not any of us be separated. The children will return when they are thoroughly cold.”
My prediction was correct. The words had scarcely left my lips when the three ran into the hall crying. It was growing insufferably cold. We all realized that. We rushed about in addle-pated fashion, all talking at once, grabbing up this and that until we were acting like so many demented creatures.
Suddenly a voice, loud and stern, brought us to our senses. It was young Marden who was speaking.
“We are all acting like fools,” he cried. “With your permission I will tell you what to do if you want to live awhile longer.”
His self-control had a quieting effect upon the rest of us. He continued in lower tones, but with an undeniable air of mastery, “My observatory across the street is the place for our hibernation. It is heated by atomic energy, so there will be no danger of a fuel shortage. Ed, will you and Mrs. Zutell bring from your home in your car all the provisions you have available at once? Jim” (I rather winced at being addressed in so familiar a manner by a man younger in years than myself, but upon this occasion my superior), “you and Mrs. Griffin load your car with all your available food. I was going to add that you buy more, but an inevitable stampede at the groceries might make that inadvisable at present. My wife and I will bring all the concentrated food we have on hand—enough for two or three years, I think, if carefully used. Kiddies,” he said to the three who stood looking from one to the other of us in uncomprehending terror, “gather together all the coats and wraps you find here in the Griffin house!”
A new respect for this man possessed me as we all set about carrying out his orders.
“You watch the children and gather together provisions,” I called to Vera. “I am going to see if I can’t get more from the store. We must have more concentrated and condensed foods than we are in the habit of keeping on hand for daily use. Such foods will furnish a maximum amount of nourishment with a minimum bulk.”
IV.
I opened the door but returned immediately for my overcoat. The breath of winter was out-of-doors, though it was the month of June. The streets were lighted, and in the imperfect glow I could see panicky figures flitting to and fro. I hurried toward the square, which was exactly what everyone else seemed to be doing. A man bumped my elbow. Each of us turned and regarded the other with wide eyes. I recognized Sam McSween.
“My God, Griffin,” he cried, “what does it all mean? Ella’s been laid up for a week—no food, and I thought I’d—”
I left him to relate his woes to the next passerby. My goal was Barnes’s Cash Grocery. There was a mob inside the store, but old man Barnes, his son and daughter and two extra clerks were serving the crowd as quickly as possible. Guy Barnes’s nasal tones reached my ears as I stood shivering in the doorway.
“No—terms are strictly cash—friends.”
“Cash!” bawled a voice near my ear. “What good will cash do you, pard, in the place we’re all headed for?”
“I have cash, Guy. Gimme ten dollars’ worth o’ canned goods and make it snappy,” yelled another.
Petty thievery was rife, but no one was vested with authority to attempt to stop it. One thought actuated all: to get food, either by fair means or foul.
At length I found myself near the counter frantically waving in the air a ten-dollar bill and two ones.
“You’ve always let me have credit for a month or two at a time, Guy,” I said coaxingly.
The old grocer shook his head in a determined manner. “Cash is the surest way to distribute this stuff fairly. The bank’s open, Jim, but the mob’s worse there than here, they tell me.”
I shrugged my shoulders in resignation. “Give me ten dollars’ worth of condensed milk, meat tablets, some fruits and vegetables.”
He handed me my great basket of groceries and I forced a passage through the crowd and gained the street. There were fewer people on the square than there had been an hour earlier. On their faces had settled a grim resignation that was more tragic than the first fright had been.
On the corner of Franklin and Main Streets I met little Dora Schofield, a playmate of Eleanor’s. She was crying pitifully, and the hands that held her market basket were purple with the cold that grew more intense every moment.
“Where are you going, Dora?” I asked.
“Mother’s ill and I am going to Barnes’s grocery store for her,” replied the little girl.
“You can never get in there,” I said. My heart was wrung at the sight of the pathetic little figure. “Put your basket down and I’ll fill it for you. Then you can hurry right back to mother.”
She ceased her crying and did as I bade her. I filled her smaller basket from my own.
“Now hurry home,” I cried, “and tell your mother not to let you out again.”
I had a walk of five blocks before me. I hurried on with other scurrying figures through the deepening gloom. I lifted my eyes to the sky and surveyed the black vault above. It was noon, and yet it had every appearance of night. Suddenly I stopped and gazed fixedly at a heavenly body, the strangest I had ever seen. It did not seem to be a star, nor was it the moon, for it was scarcely a quarter the size of the full moon.
“Can it be a comet?” I asked, half aloud.
Then with a shock I realized it was our sun, which we were leaving at an inconceivably rapid rate. The thought appalled me, and I stood for some seconds overwhelmed by the realization of what had occurred.
“I suppose Venus will give us a passing thought, as we did Mars, if she even—”
My train of thoughts came to an abrupt conclusion as I became aware of a menacing figure approaching me from Brigham Street. I tried to proceed, assuming a jaunty air, though my emotions certainly belied my mien. I had recognized Carl Hovarder, a typical town bully with whom I had had a previous unfortunate encounter when
