The Last New Yorkers | Page 3

the mask of a long, red,
dusty beard and formidable mustache, even despite the wild and staring
incoherence of his whole expression.
Yet how incredible the metamorphosis! To her flashed a memory of
this man, her other-time employer--keen and smooth-shaven, alert,
well-dressed, self-centered, dominant, the master of a hundred complex
problems, the directing mind of engineering works innumerable.
Faltering and uncertain now he stood there. Then, at the sound of the
girl's voice, he staggered toward her with outflung hands. He stopped,
and for a moment stared at her.
For he had had no time as yet to correlate his thoughts, to pull himself
together.
And while one's heart might throb ten times, Beatrice saw terror in his
blinking, bloodshot eyes.
But almost at once the engineer mastered himself. Even as Beatrice
watched him, breathlessly, from the door, she saw his fear die out, she
saw his courage well up fresh and strong.
It was almost as though something tangible were limning the man's
soul upon his face. She thrilled at sight of him.

And though for a long moment no word was spoken, while the man and
woman stood looking at each other like two children in some dread and
unfamiliar attic, an understanding leaped between them.
Then, womanlike, instinctively as she breathed, the girl ran to him.
Forgetful of every convention and of her disarray, she seized his hand.
And in a voice that trembled till it broke she cried:
"What is it? What does all this mean? Tell me!"
To him she clung.
"Tell me the truth--and save me! Is it real?"
Stern looked at her wonderingly. He smiled a strange, wan, mirthless
smile.
All about him he looked. Then his lips moved, but for the moment no
sound came.
He made another effort, this time successful.
"There, there," said he huskily, as though the dust and dryness of the
innumerable years had got into his very voice. "There, now, don't be
afraid!
"Something seems to have taken place here while--we've been asleep.
What? What is it? I don't know yet. I'll find out. There's nothing to be
alarmed about, at any rate."
"But--look!" She pointed at the hideous desolation.
"Yes, I see. But no matter. You're alive. I'm alive. That's two of us,
anyhow. Maybe there are a lot more. We'll soon see. Whatever it may
be, we'll win."
He turned and, trailing rags and streamers of rotten cloth that once had
been a business suit, he waded through the confusion of wreckage on
the floor to the window.

If you have seen a weather-beaten scarecrow flapping in the wind, you
have some notion of his outward guise. No tramp you ever laid eyes on
could have offered so preposterous an appearance.
Down over his shoulders fell the matted, dusty hair. His tangled beard
reached far below his waist. Even his eyebrows, naturally rather light,
had grown to a heavy thatch above his eyes.
Save that he was not gray or bent, and that he still seemed to have kept
the resilient force of vigorous manhood, you might have thought him
some incredibly ancient Rip Van Winkle come to life upon that
singular stage, there in the tower.
But little time gave he to introspection or the matter of his own
appearance. With one quick gesture he swept away the shrouding
tangle of webs, spiders, and dead flies that obscured the window. Out
he peered.
"Good Heavens!" cried he, and started back a pace.
She ran to him.
"What is it?" she breathlessly exclaimed.
"Why, I don't know--yet. But this is something big! Something
universal! It's--it's--no, no, you'd better not look out--not just yet."
"I must know everything. Let me see!"
Now she was at his side, and, like him, staring out into the clear
sunshine, out over the vast expanses of the city.
A moment's utter silence fell. Quite clearly hummed the protest of an
imprisoned fly in a web at the top of the window. The breathing of the
man and woman sounded quick and loud.
"All wrecked!" cried Beatrice. "But--then--"
"Wrecked? It looks that way," the engineer made answer, with a strong

effort holding his emotions in control. "Why not be frank about this?
You'd better make up your mind at once to accept the very worst. I see
no signs of anything else."
"The worst? You mean--"
"I mean just what we see out there. You can interpret it as well as I."
Again the silence while they looked, with emotions that could find no
voicing in words. Instinctively the engineer passed an arm about the
frightened girl and drew her close to him.
"And the last thing I remember," whispered she, "was just--just after
you'd finished dictating those Taunton Bridge specifications. I suddenly
felt--oh, so sleepy! Only for a minute I thought I'd close