Finally, the fourth announced the early solution of a weighty scientific problem. Every one will remember the bold experiment made a hundred years ago by Dr. Nathaniel Faithburn. The doctor, being a firm believer in human hibernation--in other words, in the possibility of our suspending our vital functions and of calling them into action again after a time--resolved to subject the theory to a practical test. To this end, having first made his last will and pointed out the proper method of awakening him; having also directed that his sleep was to continue a hundred years to a day from the date of his apparent 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 laid in a tomb. Time went on. September 25th, 2889, being the day set for his resurrection, it was proposed to Mr. Smith that he should permit the second part of the experiment to be performed at his residence this evening. "Agreed. Be here at ten o'clock," answered Mr. Smith; and with that the day'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 Concert Hall, whence our greatest _maestros_ send out to subscribers their delightful successions of accords determined by recondite algebraic formulas. Night was approaching. Entranced by the harmony, forgetful of the hour, Smith did not notice that it was growing dark. It was quite dark 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 became luminous. "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 your appetite?" "Only passably good." "Yes, the stomach. There's the rub. You are over-worked. If your stomach is out of repair, it must be mended. That requires study. We must think about 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 the morning, the _potage_, _rôti_, _ragoûts_, and _legumes_ were supplied through the food-pipes. Toward the close of the meal, phonotelephotic communication was made with Paris. Smith saw his wife, seated alone at the dinner-table, looking anything but pleased at her loneliness. "Pardon me, my dear, for having left you alone," he said through the telephone. "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 severed communication with Paris.