ow that! I wish you'd told me
before. MacDonough's Song may have had its uses when it was composed,
but it was an infernal legacy for any man to leave behind.'

'It's protective instinct, my dear fellows,' said Pirolo, rolling a
cigarette. 'The Planet, she has had her dose of popular government. She
suffers from inherited agoraphobia. She has no--ah--use for Crowds.'

Dragomiroff leaned forward to give him a light. 'Certainly,' said the
white-bearded Russian, 'the Planet has taken all precautions against
Crowds for the past hundred years. What is our total population to-day?
Six hundred million, we hope; five hundred, we think; but--but if next
year's census shows more than four hundred and fifty, I myself will eat
all the extra little babies. We have cut the birth-rate out--right out!
For a long time we have said to Almighty God, "Thank You, Sir, but we do
not much like Your game of life, so we will not play."'

'Anyhow,' said Arnott defiantly, 'men live a century apiece on the
average now.'

'Oh, that is quite well! I am rich--you are rich--we are all rich and
happy because we are so few and we live so long. Only _I_ think Almighty
God He will remember what the Planet was like in the time of Crowds and
the Plague. Perhaps He will send us nerves. Eh, Pirolo?'

The Italian blinked into space. 'Perhaps,' he said, 'He has sent them
already. Anyhow, you cannot argue with the Planet. She does not forget
the Old Days, and--what can you do?'

'For sure we can't remake the world.' De Forest glanced at the map
flowing smoothly across the table from west to east. 'We ought to be
over our ground by nine to-night. There won't be much sleep afterwards.'

On which hint we dispersed, and I slept till Takahira waked me for
dinner. Our ancestors thought nine hours' sleep ample for their little
lives. We, living thirty years longer, feel ourselves defrauded with
less than eleven out of the twenty-four.

By ten o'clock we were over Lake Michigan. The west shore was lightless,
except for a dull ground-glare at Chicago, and a single
traffic-directing light--its leading beam pointing north--at Waukegan on
our starboard bow. None of the Lake villages gave any sign of life; and
inland, westward, so far as we could see, blackness lay unbroken on the
level earth. We swooped down and skimmed low across the dark, throwing
calls county by county. Now and again we picked up the faint glimmer of
a house-light, or heard the rasp and rend of a