You were in a square, singularly light, though windowless room immediately underneath the lower, pointed end of the biggest Wireless. The room was lighted along the top of the walls on two sides by oblong slabs of thick opaque glass with many ventilators controlled by levers. The huge metal ribs and supports of the colossal steel tower overhead were built deep into the solid stone masonry. Through a massive block of crystal glass—the insulator on which the pointed end of the mast rested, your vision was snatched up—up dizzily—through the vertical labyrinth of metal ribs and girders, until it ended at the inner extremity of the apex, seven hundred and fifty feet above. The shrill song of the wind amongst the steel ribs, and spars, and guy-ropes, whose ends were linked to reinforced steel beams or ground-anchors, sunk in heavy outside foundations of masonry, hardly reached one here. But from the dynamo-room that absorbed the space between this and the second Wireless chamber, you heard the deep moan of the Goldberg Alternator, its rotor speed maintained by a 500 horse-power Krafit engine, sunk, to lessen the tremendous vibration, in a solid steel and cement lined power-house, deep below the level of the soggy ground. The boy’s wide blue eyes took in the wonder and the strangeness of his surroundings. Lightness and whiteness, a ship-shape neatness, a scrupulous freedom from dust, a dazzling polish and burnish on surfaces or knobs or handles of wood, brass, or copper, characterised the place. About the walls were metal cylinders with pipes and induction-coils, frames supporting reels of wire in rows, and brass things like pincers in rows above them; and above these, rows of shining crystal bull’s-eyes like port-lights, and yet others with stars and circles of electric bulbs.