death,he unhesitatingly put the theory to the proof in his own person.
Reduced to the condition of a mummy, Dr. Faithburn was coffined and laidin a tomb. Time went on. September 25th, 2889, being the day set for hisresurrection, it was proposed to Mr. Smith that he should permit thesecond part of the experiment to be performed at his residence thisevening.
"Agreed. Be here at ten o'clock," answered Mr. Smith; and with that theday's audience was closed.
Left to himself, feeling tired, he lay down on an extension chair. Then,touching a knob, he established communication with the Central ConcertHall, whence our greatest _maestros_ send out to subscribers theirdelightful successions of accords determined by recondite algebraicformulas. Night was approaching. Entranced by the harmony, forgetful ofthe hour, Smith did not notice that it was growing dark. It was quitedark when he was aroused by the sound of a door opening. "Who is there?"he asked, touching a commutator.
Suddenly, in consequence of the vibrations produced, the air becameluminous.
"Ah! you, Doctor?"
"Yes," was the reply. "How are you?"
"I am feeling well."
"Good! Let me see your tongue. All right! Your pulse. Regular! And yourappetite?"
"Only passably good."
"Yes, the stomach. There's the rub. You are over-worked. If your stomachis out of repair, it must be mended. That requires study. We must thinkabout it."
"In the meantime," said Mr. Smith, "you will dine with me."
As in the morning, the table rose out of the floor. Again, as in themorning, the _potage, roti, ragouts_, and _legumes_ were suppliedthrough the food-pipes. Toward the close of the meal, phonotelephoticcommunication was made with Paris. Smith saw his wife, seated alone atthe dinner-table, looking anything but pleased at her loneliness.
"Pardon me, my dear, for having left you alone," he said through thetelephone. "I was with Dr. Wilkins."
"Ah, the good doctor!" remarked Mrs. Smith, her countenance lighting up.
"Yes. But, pray, when are you coming home?"
"This evening."
"Very well. Do you come by tube or by air-train?"
"Oh, by tube."
"Yes; and at what hour will you arrive?"
"About eleven, I suppose."
"Eleven by Centropolis time, you mean?"
"Yes."
"Good-by, then, for a little while," said Mr. Smith as he severedcommunication with Paris.
Dinner over, Dr. Wilkins wished to depart. "I shall expect you at ten,"said Mr Smith. "To-day, it seems, is the day for the return to life ofthe famous Dr. Faithburn. You did not think of it, I suppose. Theawakening is to take place here in my house. You must come and see. Ishall depend on your being here."
"I will come back," answered Dr. Wilkins.
Left alone, Mr. Smith busied himself with examining his accounts--a taskof vast magnitude, having to do with transactions which involve a dailyexpenditure of upward of $800,000. Fortunately, indeed, the stupendousprogress of mechanic art in modern times makes it comparatively easy.Thanks to the Piano Electro-Reckoner, the most complex calculations canbe made in a few seconds. In two hours Mr. Smith completed his task.Just in time. Scarcely had he turned over the last page when Dr. Wilkinsarrived. After him came the body of Dr. Faithburn, escorted by anumerous company of men of science. They commenced work at once. Thecasket being laid down in the middle of the room, the telephote was gotin readiness. The outer world, already notified, was anxiouslyexpectant, for the whole world could be eye-witnesses of theperformance, a reporter meanwhile, like the chorus in the ancient drama,explaining it all _viva voce_ through the telephone.
"They are opening the casket," he explained. "Now they are takingFaithburn out of it--a veritable mummy, yellow, hard, and dry. Strikethe body and it resounds like a block of wood. They are now applyingheat; now electricity. No result. These experiments are suspended for amoment while Dr. Wilkins makes an examination of the body. Dr. Wilkins,rising, declares the man to be dead. 'Dead!' exclaims every one present.'Yes,' answers Dr. Wilkins, 'dead!' 'And how long has he been dead?' Dr.Wilkins makes another examination. 'A hundred years,' he replies."
The case stood just as the reporter said. Faithburn was dead, quitecertainly dead! "Here is a method that needs improvement," remarked Mr.Smith to Dr. Wilkins, as the scientific committee on hibernation borethe casket out. "So much for that experiment. But if poor Faithburn isdead, at least he is sleeping," he continued. "I wish I could get somesleep. I am tired out, Doctor, quite tired out! Do you not think that abath would refresh me?"
"Certainly. But you must wrap yourself up well before you go out intothe hall-way. You must not expose yourself to cold."
"Hall-way? Why, Doctor, as you well know, everything is done bymachinery here. It is not for me to go to the bath; the bath will cometo me. Just look!" and he pressed a button. After a few seconds a faintrumbling was heard, which grew louder and louder. Suddenly the dooropened, and the tub appeared.
Such, for this year of grace 2889, is the history of one day in the lifeof the editor of the Earth Chronicle. And the history of that one dayis the history of 365 days every year, except leap-years, and then of366 days--for as yet no means has been found of increasing the length ofthe terrestrial year.
JULES VERNE.
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