e old songs. Nothing comes up to the old touch. Listen to this, dear
men.' Vincent carolled with flourishes:

Oh, cruel lamps of London,
If tears your light could drown,
Your victims' eyes would weep them,
Oh, lights of London Town!

'Then they weep.'

'You see?' Pirolo waved his hands at us. 'The old world always weeped
when it saw crowds together. It did not know why, but it weeped. We know
why, but we do not weep, except when we pay to be made to by fat, wicked
old Vincent.'

'Old, yourself!' Vincent laughed. 'I'm a public benefactor, I keep the
world soft and united.'

'And I'm De Forest of the Board,' said De Forest acidly, 'trying to get
a little business done. As I was saying, I've picked up a few people
in Chicago.'

'I cut out. Chicago is--'

'Do listen! They're perfectly unique.'

'Do they build houses of baked mudblocks while you wait--eh? That's an
old contact.'

'They're an untouched primitive community, with all the old ideas.'

'Sewing-machines and maypole-dances? Cooking on coal-gas stoves,
lighting pipes with matches, and driving horses? Gerolstein tried that
last year. An absolute blow-out!'

De Forest plugged him wrathfully, and poured out the story of our doings
for the last twenty-four hours on the top-note.

'And they do it _all_ in public,' he concluded. 'You can't stop 'em. The
more public, the better they are pleased. They'll talk for hours--like
you! Now you can come in again!'

'Do you really mean they know how to vote?' said Vincent. 'Can they act
it?'

'Act? It's their life to 'em! And you never saw such faces! Scarred
like volcanoes. Envy, hatred, and malice in plain sight. Wonderfully
flexible voices. They weep, too.'

'Aloud? In public?'

'I guarantee. Not a spark of shame or reticence in the entire
installation. It's the chance of your career.'

'D'you say you've brought their voting props along--those papers and
ballot-box things?'

'No, confound you! I'm not a luggage-lifter. Apply direct to the Mayor
of Chicago. He'll forward you everything. Well?'

'Wait a minute. Did Chicago want to kill 'em? That 'ud look well on the
Communicators.'

'Yes! They were only rescued with difficulty from a howling mob--if you
know what that is.'

'But I don't,' answered the Great Vincent simply.

'Well then, they'll tell you themselves. They can make speeches hours
long.'

'How many are there?'

'By the time we ship 'em all over they'll be perhaps