Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net The Elroom BY JERRY SOHL _Timmy was getting too much 3-dimension television, and he was mistaking it for Mother Nature. So his parents took him out to see the natural wonders, which he unhappily mistook for 3-D television...._ [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, March 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] She had never seen violinists work so hard. They were running their bows back and forth so fast their hands were blurred. The musicians' faces were studies in concentration and the concertmaster--he wasn't two feet from her--had worked himself into such a frenzy veins were standing out on his red face. Mrs. Briggs almost laughed, the way the conductor was sweeping his baton to within inches of her head. Several times she had an impulse to reach up and catch it. So this was Virilio! Disjointed, cacophonic, sometimes sweet but more often deafening. She had never caught him before. But it was just as advertised, all right. Exciting. And moving. She didn't know if there was supposed to be a love theme in Virilio's new _Plenitude on a Thursday Afternoon_, but it definitely stirred her. Just then the door opened and Timmy came walking through the musicians, eating an apple. Once he stopped to stare at the tympani and a second fiddler's bow kept running through his head. It was rather ghostly, Mrs. Briggs thought. "Timmy!" she yelled above the music. "I didn't see you go. Where have you been?" As if she didn't know. "Had to get a glass of water. The music made me thirsty," he said loudly, taking his seat beside her. "This is a lousy program, Mom. What's next?" "_Drama in History_," she said absently, her eyes on a flutist's mustache, wondering how he managed to play. Timmy chomped on his apple, but in the face of his gustatory enjoyment she couldn't find the heart to tell him to be quiet. At intermission, she left the Elroom to let Timmy take in the commercial and returned in time for the beginning of _Drama in History_. There was a salt spray in the air and a cool wind whipped around them as the lights went out completely. The roar of waves grew loud and the deck creaked beneath their feet. The ship moved through the dim light. Sailors stood like statues about the deck. "We're even with the inshore ships, sir!" a voice called hoarsely. "We've got the French between us, then." Though he was a small man, there was a ring of authority in the voice of the man on the bridge. "There's the _Orient_, sir!" "One of ours has gone aground!"