The Runaway Skyscraper | Page 8

that food. Before we pass it out indiscriminately, we'll see to it there's
more for to-morrow and the next day."
He stepped down from the counter and moved toward the stairway. It
was not worth while to use the elevator for the ride of only one floor.
Estelle managed to join him, and they mounted the steps together.
"Do you think we'll pull through all right?" she asked quietly.
"We've got to!" Arthur told her, setting his chin firmly. "We've simply
got to."
The gray-haired president of the bank was waiting for them at the top
of the stairs.
"My name is Van Deventer," he said, shaking hands with Arthur, who
gave his own name.
"Where shall our emergency council sit?" he asked.
"The bank has a board room right over the safety vault. I dare say we
can accommodate everybody there--everybody in the council, anyway."
Arthur followed into the board-room, and the others trooped in after
him.
"I'm just assuming temporary leadership," Arthur explained, "because
it's imperative some things be done at once. Later on we can talk about
electing officials to direct our activities. Right now we need food. How

many of you can shoot?"
About a quarter of the hands were raised. Estelle's was among the
number.
"And how many are fishermen?"
A few more went up.
"What do the rest of you do?"
There was a chorus of "gardener," "I have a garden in my yard," "I
grow peaches in New Jersey," and three men confessed that they raised
chickens as a hobby.
"We'll want you gardeners in a little while. Don't go yet. But the most
important are huntsmen and fishermen. Have any of you weapons in
your offices?"
A number had revolvers, but only one man had a shotgun and shells.
"I was going on my vacation this afternoon straight from the office," he
explained, "and have all my vacation tackle."
"Good man!" Arthur exclaimed. "You'll go after the heavy game."
"With a shotgun?" the sportsman asked, aghast.
"If you get close to them a shotgun will do as well as anything, and we
can't waste a shell on every bird or rabbit. Those shells of yours are
precious. You other fellows will have to turn fishermen for a while.
Your pistols are no good for hunting."
"The watchmen at the bank have riot guns," said Van Deventer, "and
there are one or two repeating-rifles there. I don't know about
ammunition."
"Good! I don't mean about the ammunition, but about the guns. We'll
hope for the ammunition. You fishermen get to work to improvise

tackle out of anything you can get hold of. Will you do that?"
A series of nods answered his question.
"Now for the gardeners. You people will have to roam through the
woods in company with the hunters and locate anything in the way of
edibles that grows. Do all of you know what wild plants look like? I
mean wild fruits and vegetables that are good to eat."
A few of them nodded, but the majority looked dubious. The consensus
of opinion seemed to be that they would try. Arthur seemed a little
discouraged.
"I guess you're the man to tell about the restaurant," Van Deventer said
quietly. "And as this is the food commission, or something of that sort,
everybody here will be better for hearing it. Anyway, everybody will
have to know it before night. I took over the restaurant as you
suggested, and posted some of the men from the bank that I knew I
could trust about the doors. But there was hardly any use in doing it."
"The restaurant stocks up in the afternoon, as most of its business is in
the morning and at noon. It only carries a day's stock of foodstuffs, and
the--the cataclysm, or whatever it was, came at three o'clock. There is
practically nothing in the place. We couldn't make sandwiches for half
the women that are caught with us, let alone the men. Everybody will
go hungry to-night. There will be no breakfast to-morrow, nor anything
to eat until we either make arrangements with the Indians for some
supplies or else get food for ourselves."
Arthur leaned his jaw on his hand and considered. A slow flush crept
over his cheek. He was getting his fighting blood up.
At school, when he began to flush slowly his schoolmates had known
the symptom and avoided his wrath. Now he was growing angry with
mere circumstances, but it would be none the less unfortunate for those
circumstances.
"Well," he said at last deliberately, "we've got to-- What's that?"

There was a great creaking and groaning. Suddenly a sort of vibration
was felt under foot. The floor began to take on a slight slant.
"Great Heaven!" some one cried. "The building's turning over and