The Great Stone of Sardis | Page 4

and the century was not
twenty years old when the world found itself in a storm of active effort never known in
its history before. Religion, politics, literature, and art were called upon to get up and
shake themselves free of the drowsiness of their years of inaction.

On that great and crowded stage where the thinkers of the world were busy in creating
new parts for themselves without much reference to what other people were doing in their
parts, Roland Clewe was now ready to start again, with more earnestness and enthusiasm
than before, to essay a character which, if acted as he wished to act it, would give him
exceptional honor and fame, and to the world, perhaps, exceptional advantage.

CHAPTER II
THE SARDIS WORKS
At the little station of Sardis, in the hill country of New Jersey, Roland Clewe alighted
from the train, and almost instantly his hand was grasped by an elderly man, plainly and
even roughly dressed, who appeared wonderfully glad to see him. Clewe also was greatly
pleased at the meeting.
"Tell me, Samuel, how goes everything?" said Clewe, as they walked off. "Have you
anything to say that you did not telegraph? How is your wife?"
"She's all right," was the answer. "And there's nothin' happened, except, night before last,
a man tried to look into your lens-house."
"How did he do that?" exclaimed Clewe, suddenly turning upon his companion. "I am
amazed! Did he use a ladder?"
Old Samuel grinned. "He couldn't do that, you know, for the flexible fence would keep
him off. No; he sailed over the place in one of those air-screw machines, with a fan
workin' under the car to keep it up."
"And so he soared up above my glass roof and looked down, I suppose?"
"That's what he did," said Samuel; "but he had a good deal of trouble doin' it. It was
moonlight, and I watched him."
"Why didn't you fire at him?" asked Clewe. "Or at least let fly one of the ammonia squirts
and bring him down?"
"I wanted to see what he would do," said the old man. "The machine he had couldn't be
steered, of course. He could go up well enough, but the wind took him where it wanted to.
But I must give this feller the credit of sayin' that he managed his basket pretty well. He
carried it a good way to the windward of the lens-house, and then sent it up, expectin' the
wind to take it directly over the glass roof, but it shifted a little, and so he missed the roof
and had to try it again. He made two or three bad jobs of it, but finally managed it by
hitchin' a long cord to a tree, and then the wind held him there steady enough to let him
look down for a good while."
"You don't tell me that!" cried Clewe. "Did you stay there and let him look down into my

lens-house?"
The old man laughed. "I let him look down," said he, "but he didn't see nothin'. I was
laughin' at him all the time he was at work. He had his instruments with him, and he was
turnin' down his different kinds of lights, thinkin', of course, that he could see through
any kind of coverin' that we put over our machines; but, bless you! he couldn't do nothin',
and I could almost hear him swear as he rubbed his eyes after he had been lookin' down
for a little while."
Clewe laughed. "I see," said he. "I suppose you turned on the photo-hose."
"That's just what I did," said the old man. "Every night while you were away I had the
lens-room filled with the revolving-light squirts, and when these were turned on I knew
there was no gettin' any kind of rays through them. A feller may look through a roof and
a wall, but he can't look through light comin' the other way, especially when it's twistin'
and curlin' and spittin'."
"That's a capital idea," said Clewe. "I never thought of using the photo-hose in that way.
But there are very few people in this world who would know anything about my new lens
machinery even if they saw it. This fellow must have been that Pole, Rovinski. I met him
in Europe, and I think he came over here not long before I did."
"That's the man, sir," said Samuel. "I turned a needle searchlight on him just as he was
givin' up the business, and I have got a little photograph of him at the house. His face is
mostly beard, but you'll know him."
"What became of him?" asked Clewe.
"My light frightened him," he said, "and the wind took him over into the woods.