But there was resistance!
It was not to be supposed that the White Collars immediately submitted. This opposition was anticipated and provided for by an Enforcement Act. Every adult of both sexes had to register and show satisfactory and permanent employment, or accept the work assigned to him or her by the Government Bureau of Work. All refusing to accept the assigned positions were forced to leave the country. They were given a thousand dollars in gold and were permitted to go anywhere they pleased. But they lost their citizenship. At once, there was a rush of highly educated people to foreign shores; but it was not to be supposed that the other nations, who were having troubles of their own with their surplus of intelligence, would calmly permit an invasion of their lands by hordes of White Collars. Stringent immigrant laws were passed, and finally only a few of the Central and South American Republics welcomed the emigrants from the United States. This welcome was accorded more for the gold that they carried with them than for their massive intelligence.
The law was enforced. At first, it was pathetic to see professors, dentists, physicians, journalists, architects actually working, mixing concrete, building roads, and working on the government farms. Books were written, showing the horror of it all, but these were confiscated by the Secret Service Department as dangerous propaganda. Finally, the long hours of actual muscle work, the three hearty and regular meals each day, and the long sleep each night, made possible by tired bodies and satisfied stomachs, so cleared the intellectuals of the toxins that had formerly flooded their systems, that life looked entirely different to them. They became different men and women, they sang at their work, and the number of babies born in the Labor Hospitals to happy mothers and proud fathers steadily increased.
In the meantime, Larry Hubler had never ceased to continue his suit to win the beautiful young lawyer, Angelica Reiswick. She tried every known method of snubbing him and discouraging him, though she did occasionally accompany him to a hotel or restaurant for an evening meal, which her empty interior (one part of her body was not highly educated) thoroughly enjoyed. She felt that even a hungry International Lawyer could accept an occasional meal now and then from an opulent plumber, but not a thing else. Consequently, she refused his plea for a relationship more intimate than a gastronomical one. She laughed at love and refused his offer of marriage.
The National Labor Law was strictly enforced, in spite of the determined and strenuous resistance. Pale undernourished men and women were given their choice between the labor camps and emigration. Thousands voluntarily left the country without waiting to be shipped out like so many cattle, but each one was careful to claim the thousand dollars in gold.
The Reiswicks led the resistance in New York City. Finally, they alone of the White Collars were left idle in that metropolis. The morning papers featured the fact that there were only three White Collars left among eight million workers. Dr. Reiswick wrote long articles to the medical magazines, claiming that there must be at least a few tonsils left for him to operate on, and that his days of usefulness as a specialist were certainly not numbered. His wife delivered impassioned Philippics in the foreign sections of the city in the forlorn hope that some among her audience would understand her Greek and support her, while Angelica argued the matter from soap-boxes, even in Wall Street, with the faithful Larry ever in attendance to chase away the newsboys who were enthusiastic over her beauty. Larry did not work very much as a master plumber for several months. He was too much in love.
He argued with the family.
He and his father argued with the family.
All of the arguments failed, and finally, in spite of everything, the last White Collar family left in America prepared to take their three thousand dollars in gold and go to Honduras. They selected this country after a great deal of deliberation. The Doctor had found that practically every citizen of that country still had his tonsils, and he was confident that when they found out how clever he was in removing them, they would not delay in having the operation performed; his wife learned that no one in that country spoke Greek, so she was sure that they all would want to learn it, while Angelica, when she found how many small republics were neighbors to Honduras, was confident that she would have every opportunity of practicing International Law.
The day finally came for their sailing. The papers featured it.
Sob-sisters on several newspapers wrote tearful articles about the fair Angelica, who might have married the son of a millionaire plumber, had she deserted her family and her principles.
Escorted by members of the Secret Service, who were instructed not to give them a single opportunity to escape, the Reiswick family embarked for Honduras. As a family and as individuals, they did not regret their decision. Life in New York had been one of hardship and hunger, and they were satisfied that things could not be worse in Honduras, especially, if the bananas were cheap, and tonsils plenty.
The boat steamed slowly down the harbor, passed the Statue of Liberty and sailed out through the misty narrows and Ambrose Channel, and then the Doctor and his wife discovered that their daughter was missing.
Search as they would, not a trace of her could be found.
To put the matter plainly, she had been kidnapped.
Larry Hubler, by the use of bribery, had been able to spirit her off the vessel. In spite of her cries and struggles, he had carried her back to the city, and while her parents were hopelessly bound for Honduras, she was traveling in a taxi to an apartment on Riverside Drive.
A preacher awaited them there; also Jacob Hubler and his wife. In the little parlor her wraps were removed, and Larry, excited and dominant, told her, in no uncertain language, that he had brought her there to marry him, and that they were going to live happily ever after in that apartment. He went on to explain that she was going to do the cooking and washing and housekeeping and, while he had many time-saving electrical appliances, still, there would be enough to keep her busy.
Meantime, the older people waited anxiously in the background. They did not have the least idea of how it was all going to end.
Angelica Reiswick rushed through the apartment, ostensibly to escape, but not a detail of the furnishings was unobserved by her eyes. When she saw the kitchenette, with the electrical stove and shining pots and pans and White House Cookbook, and rows and rows of every possible kind of canned goods, she sighed a little and walked slowly back to the parlor where her lover and the preacher waited.
“I never heard of an International Lawyer marrying a plumber,” she declared indignantly.
“What are you going to do about it?” asked Larry.
“I do not know. Such a situation was never mentioned in my four-year law course.”
“In that case, let’s marry,” said Larry.
“Marry Larry?” she asked.
“Whom else?” he replied.
And really, what else could the last White Collar in America do?
THE CEREBRAL LIBRARY
Originally published in Amazing Stories, May 1931.
WANTED. Five hundred college graduates, male, to perform secretarial work of a pleasing nature. Salary adequate to their position. Five year contract. Address No. 23 A, New York Times.
WANTED. Three librarians, well versed in world literature. Five year contract. Address No. 23 A, New York Times.
* * * *
These two advertisements attracted a great deal of attention. The market of supply, as far as college graduates were concerned, was over-stocked; and there was any number of young men who were willing to do almost any kind of work for any kind of a salary, let alone a salary described as adequate. The letters poured into the 23 A box, and every effort was made to ascertain the identity of the advertiser so that personal application could be made; but all in vain.
Each of the thousands of applicants received a lengthy questionnaire. Each recipient filled out his paper, and sent it to a numbered letter box in the New York Post Office. Those who were fortunate had a personal interview with a sharp
business man who admitted that he was simply engaged to select 503 men, capable of doing a certain work and willing to do it for a five-year period.
At last, the five hundred and three men were selected. They were given tickets and expense money for a trip to an isolated town in Maine. They were told that the full scope of their work would be explained to them there, and that then, if there were any unwilling to sign the final contract, they would be permitted to leave.
In small groups of twenty or less, the collegiates left New York. Their absence was hardly missed. None of them had been able, so far, to do anything else but graduate from an A.B. course in some university. They were mainly plodders: good men, but not brilliant.
The town in Maine was simply a town in Maine. Including its two hotels, boarding houses, and private homes, it could, by crowding, take care of the unusual flood of visitors. The Methodist Church had been rented for a one-day meeting. It was understood that the meeting would take place when everyone had arrived.
At last, the five hundred and three men were in the church. The young men were, to say the least, slightly excited. Up to the present time, they had formed no idea at all of what they were supposed to do. A five-year contract with an adequate salary was attractive, but, on the other hand, the work might be so unattractive that it could not be considered.
The three men selected for the position of librarians were seated on one side, up front, in the Amen corners. The others filled the church. The doors were locked. And then the speaker stepped out in front of the pulpit. He was a well known publicity man from Boston, by the name of Gates. He explained that he had simply been engaged to present a certain proposition to them, and that he had nothing to do with the proposed work after they had signed their five-year contract.
His client, he explained, was a man interested in literary research. He was working on a new plan of universal knowledge which would require the reading of hundreds and thousands of books of all descriptions and in at least three foreign languages, though most of the books would be in the English language. All that the five hundred young men would be asked to do would be to spend a certain number of hours each day in reading. There would be no note-taking and no examinations. They should simply read the books given them. The three librarians would, under instructions, run the library, issue books, and keep a careful record of the books read by each man. If a reader had a hobby, such as mathematics or biology, that hobby was to be given consideration in his reading assignment. Adequate facilities were to be given for exercise, and the salaries would be ten thousand a year for five years; but during those five years, the readers would be out of communication with the world. If they wanted to, they could consider that they were in a glorified prison, or in an excellent hotel on a desert island. At the end of five years, they would each have fifty thousand dollars and an extensive addition to their education. The librarians would each receive twenty thousand a year, or a hundred thousand at the end of five years.
Quickly, a hundred questions arose for answer. Mr. Gates answered them to the best of his ability. Some secrets, he explained, could not be divulged. In fact, there were some things about the whole affair that he himself was absolutely ignorant of. The Farmers’ Bank in Philadelphia had informed him that the man in back of the plan was worth at least twenty-five million dollars, and no one need have any doubt in regard to receiving his salary. He did not know where the library was, where the reading would be done; but he did know that everything possible would be done for the comfort of the readers. Of course, it would mean isolation, but at that salary, isolation was preferable to contact and the ever present chance of poverty and actual starvation.
All that the applicants had to do was to sign a contract. They would then be given instructions as to their destination.
One and all rushed forward to sign on the dotted line. They were all serious young men, and the work looked attractive to them, even with the threatened isolation. As they signed, each man was given a ticket to Boston and an envelope to be opened on arriving there.
Their journey to Boston was a far more cheerful one than the one to the isolated town in Maine. This condition was at least one of living. They had graduated, and now they had made good. They were white collar men, but they had an assured income that would put them on easy street in five years.
In Boston, each man opened his envelope. It contained a ticket to another city or town, expense money for the trip, and another sealed envelope to be opened on arriving there. And each ticket was to a different destination. Theirs was not to question why; but each man was secretly sure that at the end of his trip he would find the new library and his five-year job.
The sealed envelope told another story. Another ticket, another amount of cash for traveling expenses, another destination. This time the destinations for all were the same. The guiding hand had deliberately tossed five hundred and three men to five hundred and three parts of the United States and Canada and had then tossed them back again to one place. There was no doubt of his purpose. Secrecy!
For some months, the realtors of Stroudsburg had been thrilled by the news that Pennsylvania Manor, on the crest of the Poconos, was at last sold. For some years it had been a source of worry. Built on an elaborate scale to provide a pleasure resort for six hundred guests, it had failed to pay the necessary interest on the investment, and had been kept closed. Its wonderful ballroom, golf course, and four thousand acres of land had been useless and worthless. Now it was sold, and no doubt the resort business would pick up. There were a thousand rumors, ten thousand pieces of idle gossip. Everybody guessed, and no one knew the truth.
A high wire fence was run around the four thousand acres, and then the bare statement was given to the press that the Manor was to be used as a retreat for the intellectual, a place where education would take the part of religion and where, shut off from the rest of the world, consolation could be sought in higher intellectual development.
This information was all a very great disappointment to the people of Stroudsburg. They wanted the Manor filled with six hundred pleasure-seekers who had only one idea, and that should be to spend money. The thought of turning the place into a monastery, with higher education as the only aim and the world shut out with iron gates and a steel fence, was not at all what the business men of the community wanted. Still, there it was, and they had to make the best of it.
There were some changes made in the main building of the Manor. The most startling was the conversion of the ballroom and the rooms adjoining it into a library. Books were brought to the Manor by the truckload, books by the thousand, almost hundreds of thousands. The placing of the shelves, the arrangement of the books, the card cataloguing, were all done rapidly and efficiently by a trained company of librarians. When the work was done, the workmen left a perfect library. It was by no means the largest library in the United States, but few could compare with it in the scope of information which it covered.
The kitchen was opened; and servants, well-trained and efficient, were installed. The golf course and tennis courts were put in perfect order. A lounge was fitted for a moving picture hall. There was everything for comfort, but there was no post office.
One by one the young men arrived at Pennsylvania Manor. They were assigned to comfortable bedrooms. Verbal instructions of a very simple nature were given them. Additional data was obtained from them concerning the courses they had majored in while at college and their preferences in reading material. The three librarians, arriving, expressed delight at the perfect order of their workshop and at once arranged their part of the five-year program. Assignments were made to each man in such a variety that the entire range of human knowledge would be covered by their reading. Each man was to read three hundred books a year. That meant fifteen hundred books per man, or a total of 750,000 books for the five years.
That number of books, three quarters of a million, was by no means the largest collection in the world. The Library of the British Museum contained two million books a
nd over five million separate pieces of printed matter, while the Imperial Library in Petrograd contained nearly two million books. Even the New York Public Library held one million, eight hundred thousand books and hundreds of thousands of pamphlets.
But it was a remarkable collection of books, considering the fact that it was most hastily gathered together for an unknown purpose. It had been purchased mainly from second-hand book stores, which, with a thrill that comes once in a lifetime, emptied their treasuries into the Pennsylvania Manor.
Quiet days followed. The activity was constantly present, but almost noiseless. Following breakfast, the readers went in different groups to various sections of the library and handed in the read volume of the day before, in order to receive a new book for the new day’s reading. Some read in the morning and evening and exercised in the afternoon, while others devoted the morning hours to exercise. The time during which the book was read was optional with the individual, the only requirement being that the book must be diligently and slowly read during the course of the twenty-four hours.
The young men had been carefully selected. They were all of the methodical, studious type, who took life seriously, and who would have felt insulted had anyone dared keep a watch on them. Each day five hundred books were read, each day five hundred were returned, and five hundred more issued in their places.
The library was being regularly and systematically used. The librarians were busy; the readers were busy. It was by no means the largest library in the world, but it was a well-used one.
The work done by these men was monotonous in its nature, but diversified in its scope. The daily book was a new book, and it meant one less book to have to read before the new freedom could be won at the end of five years. One year passed, and then two. Pennsylvania Manor ceased to be a novelty to the casual summer visitor. It no longer was a curiosity; it almost ceased to exist as far as Monroe County was concerned. The summer sun burned the Pocono Mountains; the winter winds swept them clear of snow only to bring more snow; season followed season, but the readers read on.
The Golden Age of Weird Fiction Megapack, Volume 5 Page 24