said Asano, "are the fathers and mothers of the little
ones you saw."

The hall was not so richly decorated as that of the Atlas, but saving
that, it was, for its size, the most splendid Graham had seen. The
beautiful white-limbed figures that supported the galleries reminded him
once more of the restored magnificence of sculpture; they seemed to
writhe in engaging attitudes, their faces laughed. The source of the
music that filled the place was hidden, and the whole vast shining floor
was thick with dancing couples. "Look at them," said the little officer,
"see how much they show of motherhood."

The gallery they stood upon ran along the upper edge of a huge screen
that cut the dancing hall on one side from a sort of outer hall that
showed through broad arches the incessant onward rush of the city ways.
In this outer hall was a great crowd of less brilliantly dressed people,
as numerous almost as those who danced within, the great majority wearing
the blue uniform of the Labour Department that was now so familiar to
Graham. Too poor to pass the turnstiles to the festival, they were yet
unable to keep away from the sound of its seductions. Some of them even
had cleared spaces, and were dancing also, fluttering their rags in the
air. Some shouted as they danced, jests and odd allusions Graham did not
understand. Once someone began whistling the refrain of the revolutionary
song, but it seemed as though that beginning was promptly suppressed. The
corner was dark and Graham could not see. He turned to the hall again.
Above the caryatids were marble busts of men whom that age esteemed great
moral emancipators and pioneers; for the most part their names were
strange to Graham, though he recognised Grant Allen, Le Gallienne,
Nietzsche, Shelley and Goodwin. Great black festoons and eloquent
sentiments reinforced the huge inscription that partially defaced the
upper end of the dancing place, and asserted that "The Festival of the
Awakening" was in progress.

"Myriads are taking holiday or staying from work because of that, quite
apart from the labourers who refuse to go back," said Asano. "These
people are always ready for holidays."

Graham walked to the parapet and stood leaning over, looking down at the
dancers. Save for two or three remote whispering couples, who had stolen
apart, he and his guide had the gallery to themselves. A warm breath of
scent and vitality came up to him. Both men and women below were lightly
cl