On one side of the square a Columbian guard of honor was lined up in impeccable array—their uniforms almost matching in magnificence those of the notables on the steps. On the plaza's other side an Imperial escort was aligned, equally gorgeous. Behind them and in back of a thick police cordon at the rear of the plaza were the people. Hundreds of thousands of them crowded against the barriers of the guards; other thousands clustered in windows and on roof-tops.
At first, as she compared the casual khaki clothes of her own group with all the magnificence and panoply about them, Elspeth felt ill at ease. But when the deep-throated roar of the multitude rose at Reed Weston's first appearance, as it continued and mounted until it beat almost unbearably upon her eardrums, she realized how shrewd the Weston folk had been.
The workmanlike simplicity and comfort of their clothes provided a contrast to the pomp of the others which no competing fuss and feathers could have been hoped to do. Catching Mack's eye in the second row beside her, Elspeth whispered with sudden insight, "Was this Juana's idea?"
Mack nodded, replied, "On the nose, Elly. She told me she got it from something that happened on a battleship not so long ago back in her own world. Don't they look hot in those stiff collars and braid?"
Juana, Elspeth decided, might have rated herself a mere messenger girl but she had certainly been worth her weight in ice-cold drinks. The heat of the plaza pavement was a living thing as the little Weston party walked across it toward the capitol steps.
FROM then on things became a bit confused for Elspeth. She stood by in a dream while interminable speeches were made by the leading parties concerned. She had an impression of President Wilkinson, tall and sallow and a trifle unhealthy, making awkward little gestures to accompany his speech of concession—the word surrender had been scrupulously avoided by all parties.
She remembered seeing some woman —a mere shapeless black speck—fall from a window high in a building on one side of the plaza. She remembered Reed Weston, incisive and assured in his triumph—the Mexican Emperor, a plump red-faced little man, making extravagant motions with his arms as he talked.
Particularly she would always remember Marshal Henry, calm, assured, deep-voiced, natural, the greatest idol of them all to the assembled hundreds of thousands. What he said she did not hear—could not hear, thanks to her position behind the speakers. But somehow she could sense the assurance, the quiet confidence of him, sense it in the reactions of the mighty horde he was addressing.
Later, much later, she had a brief moment alone with him in the Presidential Palace. It was in some sort of conservatory off the main ballroom in which a huge peace ball was being given. In some way he managed to have her brought there, to have the door guarded by trusted subordinates. Her hands seemed to fly automatically into his, to lose themselves in their greatness.
"Elly," he said and his voice was a trifle husky, perhaps from the strain of speaking throughout the day. "Elly, is it true you are leaving us?"
She tried to speak but could not, for emotion was high within her. She could only bite down hard on her lower lip and nod.
"But why?" he asked her. "Why when we are just beginning?"
"I have to," she said and speech, rediscovered, came in a gush. "I know I shouldn't tell you but I know you'll keep it a secret—always. I'm not from this world at all. Neither is Mack or the Pipit or Juana. We came from somewhere else to help you and now we have to leave for our own world."
"You're feeling all right?" he asked her. "The heat, the—"
"Dammit, I'm fine except I feel horrible," she almost shouted at him. "Don't you know what parallel time-tracks are?"
"Parallel time-tracks?" He looked startled, incredulous, then almost frightened in turn. Finally he nodded. "Yes, Elly, I'm afraid I do—in theory at any rate."
"But it's not theory—it's true!" she wailed and burst into tears against the vast expanse of his chest.
Late the following afternoon Mack and Elspeth found themselves once again in North Carolina, close to the Keys and to the inlet which was their destination. It was dusk when some counterpart of Corey made his boat fast to the trim white pier on Spindrift Key and helped them sling their luggage upon it.
They trudged up the path alone to the lovely old mansion and were ushered by a servant to the time-patinaed study where Mr. Horelle, looking more alabastrine than ever, still sat behind his desk. He greeted them with a smile of genuine warmth.
"You have done extremely well," he told them both. "The other Watchers and I are more than satisfied. In time you will more than make up for our loss." He was referring to Juana and both of them knew it. It was, in fact, the only reference he made to the girl of whom he had obviously been so fond. He was a very old man who kept his memories locked within himself.
HE QUERIED them about their adventures, eyed Mack's pictures with interest through a pair of bifocal glasses that seemed continually to be slipping down his high-bridged nose. It was not until after dinner, a sumptuous meal in which red snapper and immense turkey filets were the pièces de résistance, that Elspeth asked him the question which was troubling her most.
"Mr. Horelle," she said, "I feel as though we have perhaps been lucky enough to help two other worlds. But what about our own? We have our share of problems."
"In coming through your assignment," he told them, "as magnificently as you both have, you have been helping all worlds. But surely you know the answer to your own question. What is the chief problem of your world now?"
"Our population is outstripping our ability to produce the goods they need for decent living," said Elspeth wonderingly. "But I'm afraid I don't see—"
"Got it!" said Mack. "Elly, those assembly lines, those super-factories, that mass production General Curtis talked about to me. If that isn't the answer I'll eat my infrared camera for dessert."
"I hardly think you'll be threatened with such a gastric necessity," said Mr. Horelle, smiling beneath his beard at the photographer's quick enthusiasm. "Of course that's the answer." He paused then, looked keenly from one to the other of them, registering the changes, the signs of growth, that his keen wisdom perceived.
"Yet I think you'll find you've brought back something more than that," he went on. "Something more personal— vastly more personal—of course. That, again, you must learn for yourselves."
Elspeth slept soundly that night between soft Irish linen sheets. When she awakened she knew she had been transferred again. Her surroundings remained the same—apparently the mansion was one spot which was unaffected by transfers—but she could sense it in herself. Perhaps her subconscious mind retained memory of the darkness. At any rate, she knew.
Mack knew, too. He said nothing about it at breakfast but she had become closely enough attuned to the photographer during the weeks just past to understand much of what he thought and felt without need for words. They were lingering over coffee when a pert young housemaid came in and told them the boat was waiting. Elspeth found herself wondering what world the girl came from.
It was bright morning sunlight outside. There was dew on the grass and the birds were singing and the insects just beginning their diurnal chants. Elspeth and Mack strolled side by side down the wharf, and there Corey was awaiting them with his smelly old power fisherman.
"Told you I'd come back for you," he said with a twitch of the lips that was apparently supposed to pass for a smile. "Took you quite some while though. Have an interesting time?"
"You have no idea, Corey!" Elspeth told him. Seconds later they were putting toward the point around which lay the little Carolina town. It was their world and the poet felt a great sense of peace and security wrap itself around her.
Even the ugly little town had a homelike look. It was good to see the highway sign at the head of the pier with its crown and lion and unicorn, it was good to see the local constable in his round-topped helmet, gnawing his mustache ends as he stood in front of the dry-grocer's shop. It was good to know that she was part of a world in which wha
t had briefly been the United States was again a vital part of the benevolent British Commonwealth of Nations.
"A president is all very well," said Mack, walking toward the garage, bags in hand, "but I'd rather have a queen. It's more—permanent somehow."
"I know," she told him. "I liked President Roosevelt but still—he lacked something our Queen Bess has. It's hard to define."
"Yeah—and that little man they had between Roosevelts Two and Three," said Mack. "What was his name— Shuman—Newman? Imagine having a Dapper Dan like that in charge of a great country!"
"It wasn't Shuman but it was something like it," said Elspeth frowning. "Those shirts!" She shrugged and gave it up, glanced at Mack, saw that he had stopped dead on the garage threshold. Following his gaze she saw that by some magic of the interworld service the Pipit was back.
It had a number of dents and scrapes that had not been there at the start of its jaunt into the world of Columbia. The garageman came up, looking relieved. "Scared me near out of my wits," he told them. "First the car disappears, then you folk do. Then, blimey, back she comes—and then so do you. Well, all's well that ends well, I always say. She's fit as a fiddle."
Mack slung their gear into the back, pulled out his wallet and paid the baffled garageman, who was still scratching his head when they drove out onto the bumpy Main Street of the village. Corey, who was approaching the bar-restaurant in which their adventure had begun, waved a farewell as they drove past him.
Out of town Mack took the Pipit up and headed along the East Air-Traffic Lane toward New York. Ulogically Elspeth found herself filled with sudden nostalgia for the cure-all toothpowder of Columbia, for Marshal Henry, for Christine Roosevelt and the crisp amiability of General Curtis.
She glanced at Mack covertly, saw that his eyes too held a faraway look. She had a close idea of what he was recalling and a sudden pang of unwanted jealousy thrust its blade through her— or was it truly unwanted? She didn't know.
"Wonder what the old gaffer back on the Key meant when he said we'd got something more personal out of it?" Mack asked her.
Elspeth glanced at him again, saw the integrity that shone through the rough-hewn contours of his face, the honesty of his mouth and forehead. She thought of the tie that existed between them, of what the future must hold in store, of Mack's new-found adaptability, of her own loss of snobbishness, both intellectual and social.
"Integrity," she muttered. Then, at Mack's lifted eyebrow. "I think I know, Mack, but it's hard to say. You'll have to find it out by yourself I'm afraid."
He uttered a short, sharp and very masculine curse word. And Elspeth smiled silently to herself at the intimacy the word implied. Mack would find the way. He couldn't help himself now. The bond was too strongly forged.
She leaned out the window to watch a flock of gulls dip past between a pair of cotton-wool clouds.
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