at once, I uncoupled the motor,
covered the drays with the tarpaulins, and went driving at singing
speed, choosing the emptier by-streets, and not caring whom I crushed.
After some trouble I found, in fact, the station in an obscure by-street
made of two long walls, and went in by a window, a rage upon me to have
my will quickly accomplished. I ran up some stairs, across two rooms,
into a gallery containing a switch-board, and in the room below saw the
works, all very neat-looking, but, as I soon found, very dusty. I went
down, and fixed upon a generating set--there were three--that would give
a decent load, and then saw that the switch-gear belonging to this
particular generator was in order. I then got some cloths and thoroughly
cleaned the dust off the commutators; ran next--for I was in a strange
fierce haste--and turned the water into the turbines, and away went the
engine; I hurried to set the lubricators running on the bearings, and in
a couple of minutes had adjusted the speed, and the brushes of the
generators, and switched the current on to the line. By this time,
however, I saw that it was getting dark, and feared that little could be
done that day; still, I hurried out, the station still running, got into
the car, and was off to look for a good electric one, of which there are
hosts in the streets, in order at least to clean up and adjust the motor
that night. I drove down three by-streets, till I turned into Euston
Road: but I had no sooner reached it than I pulled up--with sudden
jerk--with a shout of astonishment.
That cursed street was all lighted up and gay! and three shimmering
electric globes, not far apart, illuminated every feature of a ghastly
battle-field of dead.
And there was a thing there, the grinning impression of which I shall
carry to my grave: a thing which spelled and spelled at me, and ceased,
and began again, and ceased, and spelled at me. For, above a shop which
faced me was a flag, a red flag with white letters, fluttering on the
gale the words: 'Metcalfe's Stores'; and beneath the flag, stretched
right across the house, was the thing which spelled, letter by letter,
in letters of light: and it spelled two words, deliberately, coming to
the end, and going back to recommence:
_Drink_
ROBORAL.
And that was the last word of civilised Man to me, Adam Jeffson--its
final counsel--its ultimate gospel and message--to _me_, my good God!
_Drink Roboral!_
I was put into such a p
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