There were no windows in the room but the glass walls, due no doubt to some infiltrating lighting control were now so transparent that I had a clear view of the scenery for miles about. Due to the present height of the New York mesa I could discern not only the Sound and the entire bay of New York but far down the Atlantic coast--an incomparable spectacle. From where I was, down to the old Battery, there were magnificent villas glittering in coats of many colors through the vistas of noble parks. Immense pylons stretched up into the sky, either the gigantic weather transformers I had seen or colossal plants for transmitting energy. Aeroplanes flashed against the blue like the migrations of swiftly moving birds or floated nearby like lazy clusters of poising butterflies. The speed of some of the larger ones held me fascinated. I judged rightly that they were huge transatlantic carriers for the projectile-like speed of their streaking across the sky was like the path of a shooting star across the night. I was in the midst of these observations when Mag the housekeeper entered to receive my orders. I tried to explain to her unsuccessfully my need of a razor, but after witnessing the bewilderment on her face gave up the attempt. When I ran my hand expressively over the blue stubble on my cheeks her curiosity and amazement knew no bounds. “But don’t men have mustaches or beards?” I exclaimed with a full portraying gesture. “Goats have hair on their faces like that, not men,” she replied, opening her eyes. I looked at her sharply but remembering that a sense of humor had evidently departed with the descent of my sex, I said: “Very well, I shall raise a beard if only to show the modern woman what magnificent creatures men once were.” “You are indeed curiously beautiful, Bogardus,” she said in a low voice, casting down her glance. “And your voice is so deep and your body is so strong for a man!” Though Mag was square and built like a blacksmith, I confess this humble admiration was inspiring to me and opened agreeable vistas for the future. “What does Acquilla wish me to do this morning?” I asked. “She has sent the famous Gallia to treat your body after the bath.” “Gallia? Who is Gallia? A masseuse?” “Gallia is the great Æsthete who discovered the new method of tissue preservation. If you will come down to the bath now I will inform her.” I nodded, dismissed her and presently descended. Gallia, like the generality of her caste, was a brunette, with black olive-shaped eyes and a delicate, slightly acquiline nose. She came forward graceful and fragrant, and putting her arms about me embraced me cordially, a greeting which I later discovered had replaced the crude handshake of our male civilization. “What a magnificent specimen you are, Bogardus,” she said, looking me over with the glance of a connoisseur. “Really, when we see what demigods men once were, it is a disgrace to reflect on how we have let your sex deteriorate.”