the aerophane was safely housed once more, the yelling mob had departed. london was bent upon one of its occasional insane holidays. the pouring rain did not matter one jot—had not the rain proved to be the salvation of the great city? what did it matter that the streets were black and the people blacker still? the danger was averted. "we will go out and explore presently," said grimfern. "meanwhile, breakfast. a thing like this must never occur again, hackness."
hackness sincerely hoped not. cynthia grimfern came out to meet them. a liberal application of soap and water had rendered her sweet and fair, but it was impossible to keep clean for long. everywhere lay evidences of the fog.
"it's lovely to be able to see and breathe once more," she said. "last night every moment i felt as if i must be suffocated. to-day it is like suddenly finding paradise."
"a sooty paradise," grimfern growled.
cynthia laughed a little hopelessly.
"it's dreadful," she said. "i have had no table-cloth laid, it is useless. but the table itself is clean, and that is something. i don't think london will ever be perfectly clean again."
the reek was still upon the great city, the taint of it hung upon the air. by one o'clock it had ceased raining and the sky cleared. a startled sun looked down on strange things. there was a curious thickness about the trees in regent's park, they were as black as if they had been painted. the pavements were greasy and dangerous to pedestrians in a hurry.
there was a certain jubilation still to be observed, but the black melancholy desolation was bound to depress the most exuberant spirits. for the last three days everything had been at a standstill.
in the thickly populated districts the mortality amongst little children had been alarmingly high. those who had any tendency to lung or throat or chest troubles died like flies before the first breath of frost. the evening papers, coming out as usual, a little late in the day, had many a gruesome story to tell. it was the harvest of the scare-line journalist, and he lost no chance. he scented his gloomy copy and tracked it down unerringly.
over two thousand children—to say nothing of elderly people—had died in the east end. the very small infants had had no chance at all.
the lord mayor promptly started a mansion house fund. there would be work and to spare presently. meanwhile tons upon tons of machinery stood idle until it could be cleaned; all the trade of london was disorganised.
the river and the docks had taken a dreadful toll. scores of labourers and sailors, overtaken by the sudden scourge, had blundered into the water to be seen no more. the cutting off of the railways and other communications that brought london its daily bread had produced a temporary, but no less painful lack of provisions.
"it's a lamentable state of things," grimfern said moodily as the two trudged back to regent's park later in the evening. it was impossible to get a cab for the simple reason that there was not one in london fit to be used. "but i don't see how we are going to better it. we can dispel the fogs, but not before they have done terrible damage."
"there is an easy way out of the difficulty," eldred said quietly. the others turned eagerly to listen. as a rule eldred did not speak until he had thought the matter deliberately out.
"abolish all fires throughout the metropolitan area," he said. "in time it will have to be done. all london must warm itself and cook its food and drive all its machinery by electric power. then it will be one of the healthiest towns in the universe. everything done by electric power. no thousands of chimneys belching forth black poisonous smoke, but a clear, pure atmosphere. in towns like brighton, where the local authorities have grappled the question in earnest, electric power is half the cost of gas.
"if only london combined it would be less than that. no dirt, no dust, no smell, no smoke! the magnificent system at brighton never cost the ratepayers anything, indeed a deal of the profit has gone to the relief of the local burdens. perhaps this dire calamity will rouse london to a sense of its dangers—but i doubt it."
eldred shook his head despondingly at the dark chaos of the park. perhaps he was thinking of the victims that the disaster had claimed. the others had followed sadly, and grimfern, leading the way into his house, banged the door on the darkening night.
(next month mr. f. m. white will tell the story of a terrible london water famine, entitled "the river of death.")
