In the Year 2889 | Page 7

the theory to the proof in his own person.
Reduced to the condition of a mummy, Dr. Faithburn was coffined and
laid in a tomb. Time went on. September 25th, 2889, being the day set
for his resurrection, it was proposed to Mr. Smith that he should permit
the second part of the experiment to be performed at his residence this
evening.

"Agreed. Be here at ten o'clock," answered Mr. Smith; and with that the
day's audience was closed.
Left to himself, feeling tired, he lay down on an extension chair. Then,
touching a knob, he established communication with the Central
Concert Hall, whence our greatest maestros send out to subscribers
their delightful successions of accords determined by recondite
algebraic formulas. Night was approaching. Entranced by the harmony,
forgetful of the hour, Smith did not notice that it was growing dark. It
was quite dark when he was aroused by the sound of a door opening.
"Who is there?" he asked, touching a commutator.
Suddenly, in consequence of the vibrations produced, the air became
luminous.
"Ah! you, Doctor?"
"Yes," was the reply. "How are you?"
"I am feeling well."
"Good! Let me see your tongue. All right! Your pulse. Regular! And
your appetite?"
"Only passably good."
"Yes, the stomach. There's the rub. You are over-worked. If your
stomach is out of repair, it must be mended. That requires study. We
must think about it."
"In the meantime," said Mr. Smith, "you will dine with me."
As in the morning, the table rose out of the floor. Again, as in the
morning, the potage, rôti, ragoûts, and legumes were supplied through
the food-pipes. Toward the close of the meal, phonotelephotic
communication was made with Paris. Smith saw his wife, seated alone
at the dinner-table, looking anything but pleased at her loneliness.
"Pardon me, my dear, for having left you alone," he said through the

telephone. "I was with Dr. Wilkins."
"Ah, the good doctor!" remarked Mrs. Smith, her countenance lighting
up.
"Yes. But, pray, when are you coming home?"
"This evening."
"Very well. Do you come by tube or by air-train?"
"Oh, by tube."
"Yes; and at what hour will you arrive?"
"About eleven, I suppose."
"Eleven by Centropolis time, you mean?"
"Yes."
"Good-by, then, for a little while," said Mr. Smith as he severed
communication with Paris.
Dinner over, Dr. Wilkins wished to depart. "I shall expect you at ten,"
said Mr Smith. "To-day, it seems, is the day for the return to life of the
famous Dr. Faithburn. You did not think of it, I suppose. The
awakening is to take place here in my house. You must come and see. I
shall depend on your being here."
"I will come back," answered Dr. Wilkins.
Left alone, Mr. Smith busied himself with examining his accounts--a
task of vast magnitude, having to do with transactions which involve a
daily expenditure of upward of $800,000. Fortunately, indeed, the
stupendous progress of mechanic art in modern times makes it
comparatively easy. Thanks to the Piano Electro-Reckoner, the most
complex calculations can be made in a few seconds. In two hours Mr.
Smith completed his task. Just in time. Scarcely had he turned over the

last page when Dr. Wilkins arrived. After him came the body of Dr.
Faithburn, escorted by a numerous company of men of science. They
commenced work at once. The casket being laid down in the middle of
the room, the telephote was got in readiness. The outer world, already
notified, was anxiously expectant, for the whole world could be
eye-witnesses of the performance, a reporter meanwhile, like the chorus
in the ancient drama, explaining it all viva voce through the telephone.
"They are opening the casket," he explained. "Now they are taking
Faithburn out of it--a veritable mummy, yellow, hard, and dry. Strike
the body and it resounds like a block of wood. They are now applying
heat; now electricity. No result. These experiments are suspended for a
moment while Dr. Wilkins makes an examination of the body. Dr.
Wilkins, rising, declares the man to be dead. 'Dead!' exclaims every one
present. 'Yes,' answers Dr. Wilkins, 'dead!' 'And how long has he been
dead?' Dr. Wilkins makes another examination. 'A hundred years,' he
replies."
The case stood just as the reporter said. Faithburn was dead, quite
certainly dead! "Here is a method that needs improvement," remarked
Mr. Smith to Dr. Wilkins, as the scientific committee on hibernation
bore the casket out. "So much for that experiment. But if poor
Faithburn is dead, at least he is sleeping," he continued. "I wish I could
get some sleep. I am tired out, Doctor, quite tired out! Do you not think
that a bath would refresh me?"
"Certainly. But you must wrap yourself up well before you go out into
the hall-way. You must