Part 5 (1/2)

And Peter didn't answer. Let father have his joke; they both understood.

Father went singing joyfully up the stairs. The children listened till they heard the attic door close, then all was silent.

Suzanna found a book, and at Maizie's earnest request read a chapter from it aloud, while Peter descended into the cellar on business of his own.

”I'd rather you'd tell me a story of your own, Suzanna,” said Maizie, when the chapter was concluded.

”Well, I can't make up stories today,” said Suzanna. ”Today is father's day, and I'm thinking every minute of The Machine.”

”It's going to be a great thing, isn't it, Suzanna?” said Maizie, in an awed voice.

”Yes, and n.o.body in the world could have made it but our father,” said Suzanna solemnly. ”Father was made to do that work, and the whole world will be better because of his invention.”

”The whole outside world?” asked Maizie, ”or just Anchorville?”

”Oh, the whole world,” said Suzanna, and then as Peter once more made his appearance: ”Peter, take your tie out of your mouth. Father may call us upstairs at any moment, and you must look as nice as nice can be.”

Peter obediently removed his tie from between his teeth, and just then the awaited summons came.

”Children! You may come up and bring mother.”

Suzanna ran out into the kitchen. Mother had her hands in a pan of dough and was kneading vigorously. She looked up at Suzanna's message and replied: ”You children run up to father; I'll come when I can. Go quietly by the bedroom door, the baby's asleep.”

Upstairs then the children flew. At the top they paused and looked in.

Father was standing close to The Machine; he turned as they appeared, and with a princely gesture (Suzanna's private term), invited them in.

The attic was dimly lit. Shadows seemed to lurk in its corners. It was an attic in name only, since it held no stored treasures of former days.

It stood consecrated to a great endeavor. The children knew that, and instinctively paused at the threshold. They got the sense that big thoughts filled this room, big ambitions for Man.

They approached and paused before The Machine. It stood high, cabinet-shaped, of brilliantly polished wood whose surface seemed to catch and hold soft, rosy lights from out the shadows. Above The Machine rose a nickel-plated flexible arm, at the end of which hung a sort of helmet. Some distance back of the arm, and extending about a foot above the cabinet, were two tubes connected by a gla.s.s plate; and beneath the plate, a telescope arrangement into which was set a gleaming lens.

Mr. Procter opened a door at the side of the cabinet. The children, peering in, beheld interesting looking springs, coils, and batteries. He shut the door, walked around to the front of the cabinet and opened another and smaller door. Here the children, following, saw a number of small black discs. The inventor reached in, touched a lever, and immediately a rhythmic, clicking sound ensued.

Next he drew down dark shades over the low windows. The filmed gla.s.s plate above the cabinet alone showed clear in the eclipse, as though waiting.

”Now, Suzanna, come!”

Suzanna, at some new electric quality in her father's voice, sprang forward. He procured a chair, placed it directly before the cabinet, drew the flexible arm till the helmet rested perhaps four inches above the child's head but did not touch it, pulled forward the telescope and focused its lens upon her expectant face.

”Watch the plate gla.s.s,” he said in a tense whisper, and Suzanna kept her eyes as directed.

A moment pa.s.sed. No sound came but the rhythmic ticking. The inventor's face was white. His eyes, dark, held a gleam and a prayer. Another s.p.a.ce, and then very slowly a shadowy line of color played upon the gla.s.s set between the two tubes; color so faint, so delicate, that Suzanna wondered if she saw clearly.

But the color strengthened, and at last all saw plainly a line of rich deep purple touched with gold. It remained there triumphant upon the gla.s.s, a royal bar.

Silent moments breathed themselves away, for the test had come and it had not failed. Suzanna, at last moving her gaze from the color registered, turned to her father. She saw, with a leap of the heart, that his eyes were wet. He seemed to have turned to an immovable image, and yet never did life seem to flow out so richly from him.

Peter broke the quiet. ”What does it mean, daddy, that color?” he asked.

Suddenly galvanized, Mr. Procter ran to the stairs outside. His voice rang out like a bell.