Chapter 2.
Table of Contents THE day after tomorrow! I was to see it the day after tomorrow - this strange, new, abhorrent world!
The more I considered what bits of information I had gleaned already, the more I disliked what lay before me. In the first blazing light of returned memory and knowledge, the first joy of meeting my sister, the hope of seeing home again, I had not distinguished very sharply between what was new to my bewildered condition and what was new indeed - new to the world as well as to me. But now a queer feeling of disproportion and unreality began to haunt me.
As my head cleared, and such knowledge as I was now gathering began to help towards some sense of perspective and relation, even my immediate surroundings began to assume a sinister importance.
Any change, to any person, is something of a shock, though sometimes a beneficial one. Changes too sudden, and too great, are hard to bear, for any one. But who can understand the peculiar horror of my unparalleled experience?
Slowly the thing took shape in my mind.
There was the first, irrevocable loss - my life!
Thirty years - the thirty years in which a man may really live - these were gone from me forever.
I was coming back; strong to be sure; well enough in health; even, I hoped, with my old mental vigor - but not to the same world.
Even the convict who survives thirty years imprisonment, may return at length to the same kind of world he had left so long.
But I! It was as if I had slept, and, in my sleep, they had stolen my world.
I threw off the thought, and started in to action.
Here was a small world - the big steamer beneath me. I had already learned much about her. In the first place, she was not a
"steamer," but a thing for which I had no name; her power was electric,
"Oh, well," I thought, as I examined her machinery, "this I might have expected. Thirty years of such advances as we were making in 1910 were sure to develop electric motors of all sorts."
The engineer was a pleasant, gentlemanly fellow, more than willing to talk about his profession and its marvellous advances. The ship was well manned, certainly; though the work required was far less than it used to be, the crew were about as numerous. I had made some acquaintances among the ship's officers - even among the men, who were astonishingly civil and well-mannered - but I had not at first noticed the many points of novelty in their attitude or in my surroundings.
Now I paced the deck and considered the facts I had observed - the perfect ventilation of the vessel, the absence of the smell of cooking and of bilge water, the dainty convenience and appropriate beauty of all the fittings and furnishings, the smooth speed and steadiness of her,
The quarters of the crew I found as remarkable as anything else about the vessel; indeed the forecastle and steerage differed more from what I remembered than from any other part. Every person on board had a clean and comfortable lodging, though there were grades of distinction in size and decoration. But any gentleman could have lived in that "foks'le" without discomfort. Indeed, I soon found that many gentlemen did. I discovered, quite by accident, that one of the crew was a Harvard man. He was not at all loath to talk of it, either - was evidently no black sheep of any sort.
Why had he chosen this work?
Oh, he wanted the experience - it widened life, knowing different trades.
Why was he not an officer then?
He didn't care to work at it long enough - this was only experience work, you see.
I did not see, nor ask, but I inferred, and it gave me again that feeling as if the ground underfoot had wiggled slightly.
Was that old dream of Bellamy's stalking abroad? Were young men portioned out to menial service, willy-nilly?
It was evidently not a universal custom, for some of the sailors were much older men, and long used to the business. I got hold of one who seemed more like the deckhands of old days, though cleaner and more cheerful; a man who was all of sixty.
Yes he had f followed the sea from boyhood. Yes, he liked it, always had liked it, liked it better now than when he was young.
He had seen many changes? I listened carefully, though I asked the question lightly enough.
Changes! He guessed he had. Terbacca was better for one thing - I was relieved to see that men still smoked, and then the jar came again as I remembered that save for this man, and one elderly officer, I had not seen anyone smoking on the vessel.
"How do you account for it?" I asked the old Yankee. "For tobacco's being better?"
He grinned cheerfully.
"Less run on it, I guess," said he. "Young fellers don't seem to smoke no more, and I ain't seen nobody chewing for - well, for ten years back,"
ee-ls it cheaper as well as better?" No, sir, it ain't. It's perishing high. But then, wages is high, too," he grudgingly admitted.
"Better tobacco and better wages - anything else improved?"
"Yes, sir-ee! Grub's better, by square miles - and 'commodations - an' close. Make better stuff now.
"Well! well!" said I as genially as I knew how. "That's very different from my young days. Then everybody older than I always complained about all manner of things, and told how much better - and cheaper - things were when they were young."
"Yes, 'twas so," he admitted meditatively. "But 'tain't so now. Shoes is better, most things is better, I guess. Seems like water runnin' up hill, don't it, sir?"
It did. I didn't like it. I got away from the old man, and walked by myself - like Kipling's cat.
"Of course, of course!" I said to myself impatiently, "I may as well expect to find everything as much improved from what it was in my time as in, say, sixty years before.
That sort of progress goes faster and faster. Things change, but people - "
And here is where I got this creepy sense of unreality.
At first everything was so strange to me, and my sister was so kind and thoughtful, so exquisitely considerate of my feelings and condition, that I had failed to notice this remarkable circumstance - so were the other people. It was like being in a - well, in a house-party of very nice persons. Kind, cheerful, polite - here I suddenly realized that I had not seen a grouchy face, heard an unkind remark, felt, as one does feel through silk and broadcloth, the sense of discontent and disapproval.
There was one, the somewhat hard-faced old lady, Mrs. Talbot, of whom I had hopes. I sought her, and laid myself out to please her by those little attentions which are so grateful to an elderly woman from a young man.
Her accepting these as a commonplace, her somewhat too specific inquiries about my health, suddenly reminded me that I was not a young man.
She talked on while I made again that effort at readjustment which was so hideously hard. Gone in a night - all my young manhood - gone untasted!
"Do you find it difficult to concentrate your attention?" she was saying, a steely eye fixed upon my face.
"I beg your pardon, madam. I fear I do. You were saying - "
"I was saying that you will find many changes when you get back."
"I find them already, Mrs. Talbot. They rather loom up. It is sudden, you see."
"Yes, you've been away a long time, I understand. In the far East?"
Mrs. Talbot was the first person who had asked me a question. Evidently hers were the manners of an older generation, and for once I had to admit that the younger generation had improved.
But I recalled the old defensive armor against the old assaults.
"Quite a while," I answered cheerfully, "Quite a while. Now what should you think would impress me most - in the way of change?" it
"The women," she answered promptly.
I smiled my gallantest, and replied, bowing:
"I find them still charming."
Her set face broke into a pleased smile.
"You do my heart good!" she cried. "I haven't heard a compliment in fifteen years."
"Good Heavens, madam! what are our men thinking of?"
"It's not the men's fault; it's the women's. They won't have it."
"Are there many of these - new women?"
"There's nothing else - except a few old ones like me."
I hastened to assure her that a woman like her would never be called old - and she looked as pleased as a girl.
Presently I excused myself and left her, with relief. It was annoying beyond measure to have the only specimen of the kind of woman I used to like turn out to be personally the kind I never liked.
On the opposite deck, I found Miss Elwell - and for once alone. A retiring back, wearing an aggrieved expression showed that it had not been for long.
"May I join you, Miss Elwell?"
I might. I did. We paced up and down, silent for a bit.
She was a joy to the eye, a lovely, straight, young thing, with a fresh, pure color and eyes of dancing brightness. I spoke of this and that aboard ship - the sea, the weather; and she was so gaily friendly, so sweet and modest, yet wholly frank, that I grew quite happy in her...
