In Caverns Below

For a moment, as I folded the document back into my pocket, a thunderstricken silence possessed the people. Then all at once they broke into such an uproar as I had never heard before. "Long live Luma! Long live Luma! Long live Luma the Illustrious!" They cheered and yelled, while writhing and leaping and stamping and dancing in irrepressible glee. "Long live Luma! Long live Luma the Illustrious!" My ruse had succeeded even beyond my expectations!

Now, as never before, I realized the advantages of thoughtlessness. My hearers, being all Second and Third Class citizens, had been so thoroughly trained in this creed that it had never occurred to them to question my assertions. Already I had resolved that, as Dictator, I would make thoughtlessness compulsory.

But alas for my high hopes! Just as I was mentally congratulating myself on my success, there occurred an event that seemed likely to undo all I had accomplished. The audience had scarcely ceased shouting "Long live Luma! Long live Luma! Long live Luma the Illustrious!" when a commotion arose at the corner nearest the entrance, and I could see the guards swaying back and forth, as if to throw out some troublesome intruder.

"What is it, men? What is it?" I shouted, indiscreetly, not in the least suspecting the source of the disturbance.

Momentarily the commotion ceased, while the husky voice of one of the guards shouted back.

"Your Abysmal Excellency, what shall I do? There is a man here who claims to be Thuno Flâtum!"

At these words, I was as near to heart failure as I ever hope to be. Momentarily a mist passed before my eyes, and I felt myself quivering and clutching at an iron railing for support. Then, as the attack of vertigo passed, I could see how the crowd, awed by the magic words "Thuno Flâtum," had made way near the source of the commotion, leaving a figure to wheel toward me on a "scootscoot," accompanied by half a dozen attendants.

How well I recognized that shrivelled form, with the bald head, the toothless mouth, the ear-pieces and eye-pieces, the nose-tubes and the megaphone! His royal garments were, it is true, a little frayed and damaged; the purple crest upon his head was torn and bedraggled, the green and saffron of his uniform was soiled with muddy blotches, and the string of huge rubies no longer dangled about his neck. Nevertheless, I had seen enough of the Dictator to identify him even in his present shabby plight!

"Your Abysmal Excellency, this man claims to be Thuno Flâtum!" repeated one of the guards, as the figure on the "scootscoot" drew to within a few yards of the sandstone platform.

"Thuno Flâtum! Thuno Flâtum! He claims to be Thuno Flâtum!" I could hear the mob echoing in surprise.

"I am Thuno Flâtum!" avowed the intruder with an angry squeak through the megaphone. "I am Thuno Flâtum!"

In that crucial fraction of a second, while all the world seemed to reel about me, I realized that in an instant I might come crashing down from my new-won eminence! I must act quickly—else all was lost!

I do not know what it was that, in that desperate emergency, put the saving thought into my mind. But my brain was working with the fury of fever, and somehow, goaded by terror, I leapt at the one means of salvation.

"Seize that man! Seize him! Seize him!" I cried, pointing to the newcomer with a swift imitation of anger. "It is a penal offense to impersonate the Dictator!"

"It is a penal offense, a penal offense to impersonate the Dictator!" echoed the multitude.

"But I am not impersonating the Dictator! I am Thuno Flâtum! I am Thuno Flâtum!" insisted the puny figure on the "scootscoot," while his thin right arm shook in my direction in impotent wrath.

"Look at him! Just look at him! He claims to be Thuno Flâtum!" I howled, with a sudden pretense at laughter; and rocked back and forth in feigned mirth. "When did Thuno Flâtum ever wear soiled saffron? When did he appear without the royal rubies? Guards, seize the impostor!"

"Look at him! Look at him! Just look at him! When did Thuno Flâtum ever wear soiled saffron?" yelled the mob, roaring with me in amusement more genuine than my own.

At the same time, the heavy arms of a guard closed about the feeble, resisting figure.

"But I am, I am Thuno Flâtum!" he wailed for the last time. "It is you, you who are the impostor! Only listen, only listen—"

At this, he was greeted with louder laughter than ever, and the thunders of public merriment drowned out his words. Luckily for me, he was hidden from the sight of the majority; while those close at hand could not see him clearly enough for recognition.

"Guards, place him in a cell!" I shouted, when the peals of mirth had begun to subside. "He is a dangerous madman! We will keep him locked up until—until Thuno Flâtum returns!"

As a corps of guards disappeared down a side-passage with the manacled Dictator and his attendants, the crowd burst once more into cheers, "Long live Luma! Long live Luma! Long live Luma the Illustrious!"

CHAPTER XXIX

New Storm-Clouds

In order to press on to more crucial events, I shall not linger over my first few months as Dictator. Clad in the magnificence of my new office, I dwelt in a spacious suite of rooms with palatial adornments and scores of attendants; I enjoyed the applause and veneration of millions who bowed before me as before a god; my comings and goings were heralded with blasts of trumpets and the rattle of military trappings; I held court daily on the throne of Thuno Flâtum, decided matters of public policy and law and issued orders which, theoretically, could be disobeyed only under pain of death.

Nevertheless, not all flowed smoothly. To begin with, there was the secret opposition which I had to face. Both the Second Class and the Third had accepted me readily enough as sovereign in the absence of Thuno Flâtum and never so much as inquired why Thuno remained so long on his vacation; but the First Class, it appeared, had not been trained to an equal degree of thoughtlessness, and hence could not accept me so unquestioningly. Many were the murmurs of complaint that came to my ears; it was muttered that "Luma the Illustrious" was not really "First of the First Class," as he claimed to be; that, indeed, he was not First Class at all, but came of plebian birth. In proof of this blasting accusation, it was pointed out that Luma was too healthy to be First Class; that his limbs were not shrivelled enough and he could actually walk long distances, like any Third Class nobody; that his natural eyesight was good, his ears useful without hearing tubes, and his lungs capable of functioning without artificial aid; while he was neither bald nor toothless, as every "green-blooded" aristocrat should be. In other words, he was a mere undistinguished interloper, without noble lineage or antecedents.

So persistent did such complaints become that I finally resolved on desperate measures, and secretly instituted a drive against the First Class. One by one the worst offenders disappeared from home, to take up their lodgings in some remote cell; and only after detectives had thus disposed of five hundred trouble-makers did the other First Class citizens appear to agree on the wisdom of holding their tongues. Thereafter all who questioned the legitimacy of my rule did so strictly in private; and the First Class was as open as the two other classes in acknowledging me as lord supreme.

Meanwhile I was having other difficulties, due to my zeal to remedy certain evils. While living as Second and Third class citizen, I had observed scores of things which had seemed in need of reform; and I now set about, as energetically as I could, to better the condition of the people. But how obstinately the people objected to any betterment!

For example, there was the matter of the "scootscoots." Having been shocked at the innumerable accidents, which cost hundreds of lives each day and more than once had nearly terminated my own existence, I set about to establish a system of traffic rules. These were really what we of the Overworld would consider simple and reasonable: that all "scootscoots" keep to the right of the road, that green and red lights be installed to guide traffic at intersections, and that no "scootscoot" be permitted to travel faster than two miles a minute. Yet what an uproar was created by these innovations! It was found, indeed, that wherever the new rules were applied, the death-rate fell more than ninety per cent—but what did this mean to the speed-hungry chalk-faces?—nothing—less than nothing!

"Luma interferes with the rights of private property!" cried the affronted people. "He seeks to destroy individual initiative! He attacks our ancient freedom to do as we wish with our own property! If a man owns a 'scootscoot,' why can't he drive it any way he wants? Traffic laws are confiscation!"

Against this uproar it was impossible to make any headway. The new rules were violated almost as a matter of principle; people would risk fine and imprisonment sooner than submit. Bootlegging on the traffic regulations soon became a popular sport; men would openly boast of having offended, and violations became so frequent that, in disgust, I abandoned the law, and the people, with shouts of joy, returned to their old round of injuries and "turnovers."

Equally saddening were my experiences with the new food and clothing laws. Remembering my earlier observations, remembering how the Third Class had often been ragged and hungry and how vast quantities of good food and clothes had been consigned to the furnaces, I decreed that henceforth excess commodities should be distributed to the poor. But alas—what a blunder this was! The outcry over the traffic rules was as nothing compared with the storm of protests that greeted my latest move.

"What! Give the excess to the poor?" howled the First and Second Classes in an indignant chorus. "Encourage shiftlessness and indolence? Reward improvidence and laziness? Overturn that good old economic rule, 'He who has most shall give least?' Did our fathers give to the poor? Did they not burn their excess? Then why depart from their time-honored rule? To change now would be to insult their memories!"

Most vigorous of all, however, were the protests of the National Food Producers and the United Clothing Manufacturers, Unlimited.

"Your Excellency should realize," they wrote me in an open letter, published in both the Blare and the Screamer, "that the profits of business and consequently the prosperity of the nation depend upon a scarcity of the vital commodities. So long as there is scarcity, people will pay high prices and stockholders will reap huge dividends; but as soon as abundance occurs, prices will sink and dividends will correspondingly wane. This is, you will agree, an intolerable condition, and should be avoided by every means at our disposal. Accordingly, we recommend that you repeal the law forbidding us to burn surplus products."

Naturally, I paid no heed to this appeal; but I knew that I was treading on dangerous ground. From the First and Second Classes came renewed groans and rumblings of discontent, which, despite all the efforts of the police, I could not suppress; while, to my despair, I learned that hundreds of tons of food and clothing were still feeding the flames each "wake," regardless of all my vigilance. Worst of all, the Third Class—to whom I distributed vast amounts of commodities—were unsatisfied with what I gave them and clamored for more in such a grumbling, discontented chorus that I had almost more to fear from them than from the other classes.

Yes, hard and bitter, hard and bitter is the path of a Dictator! Before a few months were over, I began to wish I had not launched forth on my new career.

To make matters still more serious, resentment at my other reform measures was almost equally heated. Thus, there was the order against adulteration of the air-supply, which brought down on me the wrath of my old employer, the Ventilation Company; there was the rule raising the military age of children from six to eight, which sent legions of patriots fuming to my palace in protest; there was the law that spies must receive a trial before being executed—which provoked widespread denunciation on the ground of its "sentimental weakness"; and there was the enactment taxing the First and Second Classes no less than the Third—which almost led to armed rebellion before, in self-defense, I withdrew it and restored the good old conditions, in which only the Third Class paid taxes.

Yes, hard and bitter was my path as Dictator! And, after the first half year, it was to grow harder and bitterer still.

But before I tell of my further public difficulties, let me mention one private vexation. This was in connection with my good old friends, Professor Tan Trum and his daughter Loa.

For a long while, I had been out of touch with this estimable pair, and I had hoped that, in my new rôle as "Luma the Illustrious," I would be able to elude them entirely. But such was not to be. One day, when delivering a public address in my throne-room, I chanced to notice two familiar faces among the front ranks of spectators, and I saw how a certain fat and bewrinkled lady was nudging an elderly man, while pointing at me in excited recognition. Alas!—even my amber spectacles and whitened face had not saved me!

It was only a few "wakes" later when Tan Trum, accompanied by his daughter, paid me a visit. In view of their many past kindnesses, I could not refuse them an audience, as I would have liked to do; but I foresaw that I was to have a difficult time. And, indeed, they were to make things more than difficult!

After congratulating me on my rise, which they ascribed to the training I had had at their hands, the Professor approached a delicate subject. Judging from the ogling glances which Loa cast me, and the admiring light in her little salmon eyes, it was all too evident that she, magnanimous creature, was willing to forgive me for past rebuffs!

"How happy your success makes me, my dear boy!" enthused Tan Trum, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. "How very happy! A great burden has been removed from us all. You need no longer be debarred—er—debarred from lifelong bliss. Loa has been faithful to you, my boy!"

"Yes, I have been faithful!" echoed the blushing damsel, with her wrinkled face downcast.

"We well realize your position, my dear friend," continued the Professor, beaming upon me in apparent unconsciousness of my growing consternation. "Weighed down by cares of State, you have had no time to pay us a visit. Besides, it would be unseemly for a man in your high position to visit our humble quarters. To be sure, you might have summoned us here, but perhaps you hesitated, fearing to shock us too greatly. Is that not so, my boy?"

"Yes, that is so!" I groaned.

"You see, Loa," the Professor went on, turning in a congratulatory manner to his daughter, "you see what a considerate lover you have! I always said that you were lucky, my dear. Yes, you are lucky, both of you! I wish you many, many happy years, blessed by—"

In desperation, I was ready to clutch at any straw. Remembering my last escape from the persistent pair, I interrupted Tan Trum hastily.

"But have you forgotten, Professor? Have you forgotten? Don't you recall the eugenics test?"

Both my visitors smiled upon me benignly, as one might smile at the recollection of sorrow outlived.

"Of course, we recall!" testified Tan Trum. "It was one of the great griefs of our life. Poor Loa! How she wept! I actually feared for the girl's health. It was seven wakes before she began to show a normal interest in her wrinkles again!"

"I didn't care what happened to me!" added Loa, looking up with a demure twinkle in her eye. "Since you were lost to me, it didn't seem to matter if I lost all my fatness. But now, of course, my dearest, all that is over!"

"Yes, now, thank the gods, all that is over!" piously echoed the Professor.

"I don't see quite how," I replied, weakly, while a stabbing sensation seemed to take me at the heart.

"Why, it's all as plain as light," declared Tan Trum, still smiling. "Be more cheerful, my dear boy! Since you are now a law to yourself, what do you care about eugenics? You can declare yourself eugenically fit, and who will dare to contradict you?"

All at once, as I realized the truth of these words, I felt a profound regret at having become Dictator.

"To be sure, your former disbarment was valid enough," rambled on the Professor, while in Loa's eyes I caught an adoring flash. "Having no military ancestry, you naturally weren't qualified to become the father of a family. But now that you are in a high position, your sons won't have to go out to fight and be turned over—"

I do not know how or why—perhaps it was the Professor's reference to fighting—but at this point an idea leapt into my head.

"All that is true," I broke in. "I have, as you declare, no fighting ancestry. Therefore, before assuming domestic responsibilities, I must justify myself in my own eyes, if not in those of the people. I have decided that before I can—er—before I can accept my happiness, I must go forth to the field of honor. Tomorrow I lead the army to battle!"

This decision, though reached this very moment, now seemed unalterable and final—my one hope of escape.

Both the Professor and his daughter looked downhearted.

"Oh, but that isn't necessary, my dear boy!" frowned the former. "You have too high a conception of honor!"

"Why, it's unheard of! The leaders of the country never go forth to fight!" pleaded Loa, beginning to pout a little. "Their place is to make others fight! Their own lives are too valuable to risk being—being turned over!"

"What do I care for the risk, when my country's welfare is at stake?" I demanded, vaingloriously.

And then, firmly entrenched in my new decision, I repeated, "Tomorrow I go forth to the field of honor! Upon my return I shall send for you both. Meanwhile kindly give my regards to Tan Tal, Moa, and Noa."

As the tall form of the Professor, drooping a little gloomily, left the audience chamber side by side with the rotund figure of his daughter, I still did not know that I had done more than to postpone the inevitable; nor had I any intimation of that whirlwind of events which was to make this my last meeting with Tan Trum and his family.

CHAPTER XXX

News from Zu

Anxious as I had been to avoid complications with Loa, her coming had not been the only reason for my sudden decision. For a long while, the difficulties occasioned by my reform measures had been growing more serious and the voices of popular complaint more menacing; hence I was anxious to find some way of diverting public attention. Moreover, the war with Zu, which dragged on interminably, was daily becoming more vexing; I still did not dare to antagonize public opinion by ending the conflict, as I had originally planned; and, to make matters worse, the enemy had lately attacked with new energy and resourcefulness. Already they had wrested from us a stretch of Nullnull seven yards deep and fifty-nine yards wide—a defeat which, though our papers did their best to conceal it, had somehow become public knowledge, vastly weakening my prestige.

I therefore realized that, in order to regain the ground I had lost, Wu must retake the ground it had lost; and I understood that, in attaining this objective, my presence on the field would be the best stimulus to the troops. Not that I actually cared a pin for Nullnull; but, knowing my reputation to be at stake, I was willing to risk all for the sake of a little of this barren land. As to whether I was competent to lead the troops, I felt no doubt at all; all our generals were so thoroughly versed in thoughtlessness that they did not seem hard to surpass; and, besides, had I not had six months' experience during the World War, as a lieutenant in the Commissary Department?

No action since I had become Dictator evoked such enthusiastic response as the announcement that I was about to command the army. The Blare and the Screamer, commending me in full-page editorials, expressed their thanks that I was ready to bring my people to "the most glorious turnover in history"; the masses, acclaiming me in wild demonstrations, cheered and celebrated until one would have thought I had already achieved a victory, instead of merely having promised one; a delegation of generals did me the honor of a personal visit and embarrassed me by presenting their plans, which were featured by an attack on the babes of Zu, whom they intended to slay in the cradle, in order to avoid having to slay them later on the battlefield.

Now I confess that my own plans were a little vague. So weary had I become of the Underworld that I did not particularly care if I should be "turned over" in the next engagement; however, I still had some principles and did not hesitate to antagonize the generals not only by rejecting the assault on the infants, but by vetoing other projects, such as the one calling for a Subterrain of unprecedented power, which would shatter the roof above the capital of Zu, burying the city and all its people amid the ruins.

Not quite realizing how the disgruntled generals were to conspire against me in secret, I set out on a "scootscoot" in the midst of an army of a hundred thousand picked soldiers, who, with their three-pointed helmets gleaming savagely while they marched with their peculiar prancing movement, made a resplendent and magnificent display. As we proceeded along the main avenues and galleries, the people came out to greet us with drums and banners, while they were shouting exultantly, "Have a successful turnover! A successful turnover! A successful turnover!" And the waving of banners, the stamping of feet, the discharging of toy explosives, and the glances of admiring eyes were such as to make the heart rejoice, in haughty contempt of any minor incident, such as a "turnover."

Owing to the torrential applause, my advance was greatly retarded and several "wakes" were consumed in the march to the "depths," as the natives termed the battle front. And, during the interval, tremendous changes were afoot. We caught intimations of these in the bulletins from Zu, which stated that the enemy, terrified at reports of my approach, were already thinking of retiring from the "top-line depths." Due to the happy intervention of our Bureau of Public Delirium (otherwise known as the "Propaganda Office") our spies in Zu had spread alarming reports as to the new Dictator of Wu; I was represented as a giant eight feet tall, who, thanks to his amber glasses, had a supernatural faculty of seeing close at hand, and was therefore irresistible in battle. The people of Zu—who, it appeared, had been as well-trained in thoughtlessness as their rivals in Wu—had been greatly impressed by such reports, which they never thought of questioning, particularly as the stories were circulated by those leading papers, the Fizz and the Pratler; and the consequence was that a wave of fear was shooting through the country.

To this day I am not certain just what changes occurred in that disturbed land. Our own papers, of course, were scrupulously unreliable, since a biased attitude was regarded as a patriotic duty; nevertheless, I knew that there must be some kernel of truth amid all the multitudes of rumors. Stories of riots and insurrections; stories of anti-war demonstrations; stories of the citizens' open refusal to go forth and be "turned over"; stories of a rebellion of the Third Class against the First and Second—all these came to us in such a continual stream that it was clear that something highly significant was developing.

Yet I was little prepared for the sequel when, on the fourth "wake" since my departure for the "depths," we reached the actual war area. I recognized the region easily enough, by the tremendous chasms, such as the one which Clay and I had observed on our arrival in Wu; besides, I could read everywhere the effects of warfare in the torn and broken galleries, the corridors with walls blown out and with ceilings sagging or fallen, the rutted and broken roads, threaded with deep gullies, and the general effect of blackness and devastation, which had blotted out every sign of human life.

Now it was that I began to look eagerly for the enemy, who were rumored to be in hiding hereabouts. My scouts pushed on ahead, being told to report any sign of hostile activity; while I, pitching camp in the wilderness at one corner of Nullnull, impatiently awaited that engagement which would either "turn me over" or make my reputation forever as the savior of Wu.

But once more I was to be disappointed. It has been regarded as one of the first principles of warfare, in all lands and ages, that, in order to fight, one must have an enemy—and, in this case, where was the enemy? Alas!—he could not be found! Had he undertaken a "strategical retreat"? This seemed quite possible, for nowhere amid all that ravaged land could we catch sight of a warrior of Zu. It now appeared that we could take all Nullnull without any loss of life; but this, being against all established precedents, which required a large "turnover," would have gained me no glory. Hence I could do nothing but wait, hoping that the men of Zu would be so obliging as to show themselves as targets; and, while I waited, several more "wakes" dragged past, and I was told that my own people were beginning to grumble at my want of action and were demanding more definite "results."

I was on the point of marching on, although much against my better judgment (for I feared a trap), when one "wake" a courier dashed into camp, breathless with haste, and demanded to see me at once. At first the man was so agitated that his face, instead of being chalky-pale, was flushed a deep scarlet; and, upon being ushered into my presence, he was unable to do more than gasp out a few meaningless monosyllables.

"Your Excellency—Excellency," he panted, when, having made deep obeisance, he stood before my chair, streaming with perspiration. "Your Excellency, I—I have just come from Zu!"

"Yes—what of it?" I demanded.

"Oh, Your Excellency—Your Abysmal Excellency, the most wonderful news!" ejaculated my visitor, as by degrees he regained his breath. "The most marvelous, most miraculous news!"

"What news? Out with it!"

Still panting, and with chest powerfully heaving, the man paused for a moment, the better to regain control of himself.

"Your Abysmal Excellency," he resumed, in a less excited manner, although with his tense emotion still manifest, "I have just been in Zu! I have seen what none of our countrymen have seen! The news is still censored. But I know that I speak truth. There has been a revolution in Zu!"

"A revolution?" I cried, leaping to my feet, while my caller's excitement began to take fire in me.

"Indeed, Your Excellency, a great revolution! The people have risen up and driven Oono Yuno, the old Dictator, from the throne. It was not because of the war, Your Excellency. They say he did not give them the right capsules to eat. And now they have a new Dictator."

"New Dictator? Who may he be?"

"I wish I knew, Your Excellency. Nobody seems to know. He calls himself Rah the Righteous. He is said to have the strangest looks of any man in the world."

"What does he look like?" I demanded, growing more interested each moment.

My informant hesitated. An expression of fear shot across his face, now growing chalky white once more. "You are sure that you will not punish me, Your Excellency? The tales are so strange that you will not believe them. I do not know if I believe them myself."

"Come, tell me everything!" I insisted, half convinced that I was about to hear some fairy story. "I will not have you punished."

"Well, Your Excellency, I know you will laugh. No man like him has ever been seen before. They say his eyes are blue. And his hair is red."

"Eyes blue? Hair red?" I gasped. And I reeled backwards and felt ready to collapse. Had not the Tan Trums assured me, long ago, that red-haired natives were unheard of? And had not my lost friend Clay boasted locks of a bright carrot hue?

CHAPTER XXXI

Rah the Righteous

Hardly had the courier left when I hastily dictated a letter:

This letter was, of course, duly written on the official stationery in the handwriting of the court scribe, and was in the common language used by both Wu and Zu. But underneath the formal message, to which I affixed my signature with a flourish, I added the following words in English:

"For God's sake, Phil, is it you? If so, let's get together! Frank."

Knowing that these words would convey no meaning unless the new Dictator of Zu were my old friend, I hurriedly delivered the letter to a messenger who, carrying the pink badge of neutrality, was allowed to travel through enemy territory unmolested.

Within a few hours, Rah the Righteous would have the communication; hence it was with the utmost impatience that I waited. Meanwhile copies of my message were sent to the Blare and the Screamer, which printed it conspicuously, with laudatory comments on my "firmness" and "courage" in dealing with Zu.

Before the "wake" was over, the reply was in my hands:

It was with an amused smile that I read the above message. But what a leap my heart gave, how I paused in startled delight and almost cried out for joy at a little postscript, scribbled in English, in a well-known handwriting:

"Thank heaven, Frank, it's you! I'd given you up ages ago! Meet me the beginning of tomorrow wake at the end of gallery C 341, at the northeast end of Nullnull. Better come disguised. Phil."

Still unable to overcome my astonishment at the prospective reunion with my old friend, whom I had long lamented as lost, I passed a sleepless night; and hours before the brightening camp-lights had announced the beginning of the new "wake," I had risen from bed, disguised myself by means of a steel helmet and a long flowing black robe, and slipped away silently through the wilderness of galleries that tunneled the borderland of Nullnull.

I well knew that the adventure was not without its perils; nevertheless, the hope of seeing Clay again more than sufficed to overcome my fears. Guided by a flashlight, I kept on at a steady pace through the darkness, until at length a welcome sign, stamped in the rock of the cavern wall, informed me that I had reached gallery C 341.

Down this thoroughfare, which wound tortuously, I proceeded at an increasing pace, while my eyes explored the shadows in the hope of encountering a well-known figure. But it seemed as if I had traveled miles before finally the gallery came to a dead end just ahead, and I stopped short, dismayed and baffled. My friend was not to be seen!

Then, as I paused, removing my helmet for the sake of comfort and wondering whether to retrace my steps, a vague shape withdrew from the dimness behind a shelf of rock. At first, amid the blackness of the cavern, illuminated only by my flashlight, the newcomer seemed more like a ghost than a human being; while, startled by his eerie appearance, and by his head and shoulders muffled in a heavy cape, I hesitated to speak.

But, even at that instant, a well-known voice rang through the air: "Frank!"

"Phil!" I called back; and, the next moment, we were gripping each other's hands in a fervent clasp.

I do not know how long we lingered there, bound in that delighted handclasp, or clapping each other on the shoulders with affectionate glee; while, overcome by emotion, we were too greatly stirred for coherent speech.

"Well, old fellow, let's have a look at you!" at last ejaculated Clay, pulling out a flashlight and casting the rays full upon my face. "Say, how you've changed! You're looking like your own grandfather!"

"Years have gone by, you know," I returned, not pleased by this compliment. "Now let's take a glance at you!"

Clay pulled down the mantle that had half hidden his features, and I saw that his red locks were as abundant as ever—in fact, had grown long as those of a bobbed-haired girl. He had also sprouted a full red beard, which greatly added to his impressiveness, while his face had subtly, unmistakably changed, and deeply graven lines along his cheeks and brow bore evidence of recent suffering.

"Say, old pal, I never expected to see you again this side of Saint Peter's gate!" declared Clay, while I was examining his changed features. "I thought the lightnings had got you long ago, in the battle cavern, when we both ran for dear life!"

"I thought they had got you! I never heard a word of you again till yesterday!"

"Nor I of you! By the devil—we're going to have a good time hearing of each other's troubles! I've had my share, Frank! And you look as if you've had yours!"

"Oh, I've been all right," said I. "Let's hear your story first!"

"No, yours first!" he insisted, and seemed so bent on having his way that I yielded. Both of us took seats on a rocky ledge amid the obscurity, and for the next twenty minutes I recited the highlights of my recent adventures.

"Jumping snakes, old fellow, but you've had a time of it!" exclaimed Clay, when I had finished. "Ought to put it in a book when you get back! But, at that, I don't think you've got me beat one whit!"

"No? What happened to you?"

Clay settled back on the ledge, as if seeking a more comfortable berth; and it was a moment before he spoke. Meanwhile it seemed to me that I saw, from behind a bend in the gallery, a sudden flutter of light, and a suspicious shadow moving. But thinking this no more than a sentinel on his rounds, I tried to dismiss it from my mind.

"Well, old pal, let's go back to when we parted," Clay began his narrative, with a reminiscent drawl. "Both of us were pretty much in a hurry, with lightning bolts flashing all around and likely to knock us to the other side of tomorrow. I remember scampering down the main gallery, with the lightning just about missing me on every side; then I dashed off down a side-gallery, where the lightning couldn't hit; but I was so mightily scared that I ran till my legs gave out. Then suddenly I noticed that you were gone, and it came to me that you had either been hit, or else had dashed off down another side-gallery. So I started back and lost my head so completely that I cried out, 'Frank! Frank!' at the top of my voice. Well, I had to pay for that folly! It wasn't a minute before I was surrounded by white-faced savages, whooping like wild Indians; and they lost no time about tying me with wire and carting me away. Later I learned, that they were war-scouts from Zu, spying on their dear old enemies of Wu.

"They bore me to their own country and threw me into a dungeon as a prisoner of war. Once or twice they were on the point of executing me, but my red hair interested them so much that they changed their minds just in time to save my neck. Finally they decided to exhibit me in a circus as a 'Wild man from Poko'—the name they give to the center of the earth, where they thought I hailed from. But one day, owing to my ability to see close at hand, I managed to pick the circus lock and escaped. I turned my hair white by means of some stolen dye and whitened my face also—then played highwayman, waylaying an obliging old gentleman and forcing him to change clothes with me—so that I could now pass as a native. By this time I had learned a good deal of the language and was able to start life as a Third Class citizen, after being sponsored by an agent of the Department of Public Unemployment, who arranged to have me swallow the Oath of Fidelity and take a regular job, in return for signing over my wages for the first hundred wakes."

"So, after all, Zu doesn't seem very different from Wu," I commented.

Clay laughed. "From all I can make out," he observed, "they're as much alike as the two halves of a split orange. Guess that's why they hate each other so heartily."

"Guess so," said I, while, as Clay settled back to resume his story, I thought, for a second time, that I could see that mysterious light and that strange shadowy form flitting across the darkness far down the gallery.

"My new work," continued my friend, "was as an employee of the Synthetic Capsule Producers, who manufacture all the country's food. By heaven!—how I loathed that job! All I had to do all day was to mix vitamins in the bread-capsules, making sure that they got just the right proportion of every vitamin from A to X. I didn't stick at that long, however; being able to see close at hand, I made myself so useful that I was promoted time after time, and after about a year became a Second Class citizen. All the while I was looking for a way to escape to the Overworld, but couldn't find any; also, I made a thousand inquiries about you, but no one had ever heard of any gray-eyed man like you. So I kept on working for the Capsule Producers, who still kept promoting me, until at last I was General Distribution Manager—which means that I had pretty much the freedom of the works, without anything much to do except draw my pay. Then it was that I started the Great Salt Revolt."

"Great Salt Revolt?"

"Yes, haven't you heard of it? About the biggest thing that ever happened in Zu! All began through an accident, too, or rather, through experiment. You see, it had struck me that these chalk-faces didn't put salt enough in their food, and you know how I've always liked salt; so one fine wake, when no one was looking, I emptied a few kegs of good old sodium chloride into a batch of dough being made into capsules for the whole country. The results were excellent, I thought—for the first time since reaching Zu, I could eat dinner with relish. But the natives didn't agree. You ought to have seen the faces they made when they tasted those capsules. Some of them grew deadly sick—suffered acute indigestion, convulsions, and other severe symptoms, for they had been so long with only a bare pinch of salt that their systems couldn't stand the added dose. I tell you, I never saw such wild times. There was riot, insurrection, almost civil war! The people thought they'd been poisoned, and they stormed about the Dictator's palace, crying, 'We want better food, better food, better food!' It was the funniest thing I ever saw."

"But, certainly, they could recognize the taste of salt!" I objected. "And, besides, chemists could analyze the capsules."

"No, they couldn't recognize the taste!" denied Clay. "They've always had salt in such minute quantities that they don't know what it tastes like. And as for the chemists—of course, they made the analysis, but who would believe them? The people had been so well-trained in thoughtlessness that they couldn't recognize the obvious. So they went right on believing they'd been poisoned."

"Even so," I argued, "what was to prevent the authorities from throwing away the salted food and distributing new capsules?"

"Nothing, nothing at all would prevent it!" Through the darkness, from the ledge of rock where Clay sat, I heard a peal of laughter. "Nothing at all to prevent it, Frank! They did just as you say! But they were reckoning without me!"

"Without you?"

"Yes, without me! You see, I had my own little game to play. It had come to me that whoever controlled the food controlled the country—and I was getting tired of a second-rate position. In my job as General Distribution Manager, it was easy enough to get access to the food vats—and I arranged to have a few more kegs of salt poured into the capsule mixture every time as it was made.

"Then how the sparks did fly! The people, hit in their most vital spot, were in a revolutionary mood; already old Oono Yuno was tottering on his throne. When I felt that it was about time to strike, I circulated an anonymous letter, stating that I, and I alone, knew how to remove the poison from the food—and offering to give a demonstration. I won't weary you now, Frank, with the details; it's enough to say that, when the people found that I could keep my promise and give them unadulterated food, they hailed me as their savior, threw over Oono Yuno and his party, whom they blamed for the bad capsules, and installed me in his place as Dictator, pledged to a policy of 'No salt in the bread!' So here I am! A wonderful sort of Dictator, don't you think?"

Once more Clay's laughter rang merrily through the darkness.

"We're a beautiful pair of Dictators, Phil!" said I, joining in his laughter.

But my mirth was cut short abruptly, for did I not again see a mysterious shadow shifting amid the dimness far down the gallery?

Clay, however, could see nothing, though he strained his eyes in the attempt. Dismissing the apparition as a creature of my imagination, he slapped me heartily on the shoulder, and resumed. "Yes, old boy, we've both struck our gait at last! A lovely couple of dictators! But say, don't you know that we shouldn't meet like this for a friendly chat? We're supposed to be enemies!"

"Yes, deadly enemies!" I laughed, giving him a playful jab in the ribs.

"If we were found together, it would be treason!" he went on, lightly. "Dictators of rival countries aren't expected to be friends! It's against all the rules!"

"Well, I'll tell you, Phil," I urged, coming to the matter that was closest to my heart, "we don't have to keep on breaking the rules. What do you say if we both chuck this dictator job and make a dash for home and the open air? I know all about the ventilation flues, and if we tried the climb, by means of ropes—"

Even through the shadows, I could see my friend shaking his head disapprovingly. "Hold on there, just a minute, Frank! What the devil's getting into you!" he interrupted, a little resentfully. "Here I am, beginning to enjoy myself for the first time, and now you tell me to leave! I've only been Dictator a few wakes, you know. I want to hang on a while and find out what it feels like."

"Oh, you'll find out, all right!" I predicted, remembering my own experiences.

"Besides," he pursued, in a little more somber tone, "don't you think that we both ought to try to settle things down here before making our get-away? I mean, about this war. What it's all about, I don't know—so why not end it? Suppose we fix up a little treaty?"

"A very good idea," I agreed.

"We'll have to split up Nullnull between Wu and Zu about fifty-fifty. Then we'll both claim a glorious victory, and the most thoughtless patriots everywhere will be satisfied. First, of course, you and I will have to conduct some diplomatic negotiations, couched in the deadliest and dullest language. Then we'll meet formally as enemies, and sign the treaty. After that, the war will be over, and everyone will go home happy."

"Splendid!" I approved. Yet already a suspicion crossed my mind that not everything would work out as Clay had predicted.

"Well, old fellow, I suppose I'd better get along back to my followers," remarked my friend, as he rose from his ledge and took my hand in a warm grip. "Might be missed if I stayed away too long. Guess you're in the same boat yourself. Good-bye, old pal! See you again soon!"

How soon he was to see me, and under what distressing circumstances, was a matter still beyond my knowing.

Yet, as I started off again through the black recesses, the sight of a shadowy shape and of a faint swaying light startled me once more like a silent warning.

CHAPTER XXXII

Toppling Thrones

According to our agreement, the Dictator of Zu and I lost no time about negotiating for peace. Our messages, true to the native custom, were phrased in the most pompous and ponderous language, conveying the impression that we disdained words of under six syllables; yet we were not so ruled by formality that we lost sight of our object. Within about thirty "wakes," we had come to the stage of arranging an armistice; and Clay and I, meeting with great bluster and ceremony at the border line of the two countries, but giving no sign of mutual recognition except for an occasional sly wink, duly affixed our signatures to the document which officially ended the war between Wu and Zu.

All this, however, was not quite so easy as it may sound. Both of us were splashing in stormy waters—more stormy, perhaps, than either of us realized. I was unable to keep close track of events in Zu, for the waves were dashing so threateningly over my own head that I had no time for outside affairs. But I was soon to learn how closely Clay's experience paralleled mine.

Never had any of my acts aroused such opposition as the attempt to establish peace. Even the move to tax the First and Second Classes had been less tempestuously received; the Blare and the Screamer openly condemned me as "capitulating to the enemy," and were not silenced even by my threat to suspend their publication; the people rose in mass demonstrations, shouting "Down with Zu! Down with Zu!" I was the recipient of innumerable petitions which warned against "Peace without victory!" and protested that "No honorable settlement is possible until the enemy turnover is double our own."

At the same time, insidious propaganda was being passed by word of mouth through every pit and gallery of the land. "What is to become of the munition makers if we end the war?" it was asked. "They will lose heavily on their investments." ... "Yes, and a million men will be thrown out of work," it was added ... "Have we none of the ancient hardihood of our fathers?" others would cry. "Do we pusillanimously dread to be turned over?" ... "Let us not surrender until Nullnull is wholly ours!" still others would shout. "We must make the world safe for the First Class!" And, mingled with these cries, there were exclamations about "The lofty ideals of the battle caves!" "The triumph of thoughtlessness!" and "The turnover to end turnovers!" until the people were in such a frenzy that nothing I said was able to reach them.

I was fast approaching despair and was even debating whether it would not be better to renew the war than to risk a revolution, when a series of unprecedented events put an end to all my plans.

Early one "wake" shortly after rising from a sleepless bed, I picked up a copy of the Screamer and was greeted by news that, I fear, made my eyes fairly bulge out of my head: