"I thought at one time that it would be best for every man to 'make way' on the actual day when he reaches the age-limit. But I see now that this would savour of private enterprise. Moreover, it would rule out that element of sentiment which, in relation to such a thing as death, we must do nothing to mar. The children and friends of a man on the brink of death would instinctively wish to gather round him. How could they accompany him to the lethal chamber, if it were an ordinary working-day, with every moment of the time mapped out for them? "On General Cessation Day, therefore, the gates of the lethal chambers will stand open for all those who shall in the course of the past year have reached the age-limit. You figure the wide streets filled all day long with little solemn processions--solemn and yet not in the least unhappy.... You figure the old man walking with a firm step in the midst of his progeny, looking around him with a clear eye at this dear world which is about to lose him. He will not be thinking of himself. He will not be wishing the way to the lethal chamber was longer. He will be filled with joy at the thought that he is about to die for the good of the race--to 'make way' for the beautiful young breed of men and women who, in simple, artistic, antiseptic garments, are disporting themselves so gladly on this day of days. They pause to salute him as he passes. And presently he sees, radiant in the sunlight, the pleasant white-tiled dome of the lethal chamber. You figure him at the gate, shaking hands all round, and speaking perhaps a few well-chosen words about the Future...." §5. It was enough. The old broom hadn't lost its snap. It had swept clean the chambers of Perkins' soul--swished away the whole accumulation of nasty little cobwebs and malignant germs. Gone were the mean doubts that had formed in him, the lethargy, the cheap cynicism. Perkins was himself again. He saw now how very stupid it was of him to have despaired just because his own particular panacea wasn't given a chance. That Provisional Government plan of his had been good, but it was only one of an infinite number of possible paths to the Dawn. He would try others--scores of others.... He must get right away out of here--to-night. He must have his car brought round from the garage--now--to a side door.... But first he sat down to the writing-table, and wrote quickly: _Dear Duchess,_ _I regret I am called away on urgent political business...._ _Yours faithfully_ _J. Perkins...._ He took the morocco leather case out of his pocket and enclosed it, with the note, in a large envelope. Then he pressed the electric button by his bedside, almost feeling that this was a signal for the Dawn to rise without more ado.... SOME DAMNABLE ERRORS ABOUT CHRISTMAS _By_ G.K. CH*ST*RT*N