she said. “It occurred to us that to pipe a leaking death into every bedroom; to thread the city with poison, fire and explosion, was foolish.”
“Defective wiring used to cause both death and conflagration, didn’t it?”
“It did,” she admitted; “but it is not ‘defective’ any more.” Is the coal all gone?” if
“No, but we burn it at the mines — by a process which does not waste ninety per cent of the energy — and transmit the power.”
“For all New York?”
“Oh, no. New York has enough water power, you see. The tide mills are enough for this whole region.”
“They solved the tide-mill problem, did they?”
“Yes. There are innumerable mechanical advances, of course. You’ll en j oy them.”
We were near enough now to see the city clearly.
“What a splendid water front!” I cried. “Why, this is glorious.”
It surely was. The wide shores swung away, glittering in the pure sunlight. Staten Island lay behind us, a vision of terraced loveliness; the Jersey shore shone clear, no foul pall of oil smoke overhanging; the Brooklyn banks were banks of palaces, and Manhattan itself towered royally before us, all bordered with broad granite piers.
“‘Marginal mile after mile of smooth-running granite embankment’” quoted Nellie. “‘Broad steps of marble descending for the people to enter the water. White-pillared piers ”
“Look at the water!” I cried, suddenly. “It’s clear!”
“Of course it’s clear,” she agreed laughingly. “This is a civilized country, I tell you.”
I looked and looked. It was blue and bright in the distance; it was a clear, soft green beneath us. I saw a fish leap ”
“So far I’m with you, anyhow,” said I. “That certainly is a big step — and looks like a miracle. New York harbor clean! . . . How about customs?” I asked as we drew in.
“Gone — clean forgotten — with a lot of other foolishness. The air ships settled that. We couldn’t plant custom houses in the air, you see — along ten thousand miles of coast and border.”
I was watching the shore. There were plenty of people about, but strangely gay of aspect and bright-colored in raiment. I could see amusement piers — numbers of them — some evidently used as gymnasia, in some there was dancing. Motor cars of all descriptions ran swiftly and quietly about. Air ships, large and small, floated off, to the north and west mostly. The water was freckled with pleasure boats. I heard singing — and music.
“Some new holiday?” I ventured.
“Not at all,” said my sister. “It is afternoon.”
She watched me, quizzically.
“It is afternoon,” she repeated. “Let that sink in!”
It sank in, slowly.
“Do you mean that no one works in the afternoon?”
“No one — except those who don’t work in the morning. Some kinds of work can’t stop, of course; but most kinds can. I told you before — no one has to work more than two hours a day; most people work four. Why?” She saw my unbelieving stare. “Because we like to. Also because we are ambitious,” she went on. “I told you of the gain we’ve made in ‘the civilized world.’ Not all of it is civilized. We are still missionarying. And while there is need of help anywhere on earth, most of us work overtime. Also it lays up public capital — we are planning some vast undertakings — and gives a wider margin for vacations.”
I was thinking in a hazy way of a world that was not tired, not driven, no nose on any grindstone; of a people who only had to work two hours — and worked four! Yet there was every evidence of increased wealth.
Suddenly Nellie gave a joyous little cry.
“Why, there’s Owen!” she waved her veil. “And there’s Jerrold and Hallier. She fairly danced with pleasure.
I could see a big grayish man madly waving his hat down there — and two young folks hopping up and down and flourishing handkerchiefs, among many similarly excited.
“Oh, how good of him!” she cried. “I never dreamed they’d be here!”
“Nellie,” said I sternly. “You never told me you were married!”
“Why should I?” she asked innocently. “You never asked me.”
I had not. I had seen that she signed her name “Ellen Robertson,” and I knew she was president of a college — how could I imagine her married. Married she evidently was, and even her long-lost brother was forgotten for a moment as the big man engulfed her in his gray overcoat, and the tall son and daughter added their arms to the group.
But it was only a moment, and the big brotherly grasp of my new relation’s hand, the cordial nephewly grip, and affectionate niecely kiss gave me a new and unexpected sense of the joys of homecoming.
These were people, real people, as warm and kind and cheery as people ever were; and they greeted me with evident good will. It was “Uncle John” in no time, and Hallie in especial seized upon me as her own.
“I know mother’s got you all broken in by this time,” she said. “And that you are prepared for all manner of amazing disclosures. But Mother never told us how handsome you are, Uncle John!”
“In vain is the net spread in sight of any bird,” murmured young Jerrold mischievously.
“Don’t listen to him, Uncle! I am perfectly sincere,” she protested, leaning over to hug her mother again, and turning back to me with a confiding smile.
“Why should I doubt such evident good judgment?” said I. And she slipped her hand in mine and squeezed it. Nellie sat there, looking as proud and happy and matronly and motherly as anybody could, and a great weight rolled off my heart. Some things were left of my old world anyway.
We talked gaily and excitedly on our way of immediate plans, rolling smoothly along broad, open streets. A temporary conclusion was to stop at Hallie’s apartment for the time being; and I was conscious of a distinct sense of loss to think of my new-found niece being already married.
“How still it is!” I presently observed. “Is that because it is afternoon, too?”
“Oh, no,” they assured me. “We aren’t as noisy as we used to be.”
“These children don’t know anything about what we used to have to put up with,” said Owen. “They never were in New York while it was screaming. You see, there are no horses; all surface vehicles are rubber-tired; the minor delivery is pneumatic, and the freight all goes underneath — on those silent monorails.”
The great city spread about us, clean as a floor, quiet as a country town by comparison with what I remembered; yet full of the stir and murmur of moving crowds. Everyone we passed or met looked happy and prosperous, and even my
