Looking back upon it the comparison strikes me. But at the time I recall I was annoyed with Arturo. He impressed me as rather sullen--a spoiled, sullen boy. Dr. Plantet had one evening said something with an edge to it--some trivial thing, unimportant; and Arturo had flushed with a deep, angry flush--and with quivering lip, had left the house. It was hours before he returned. We had had numerous world reports that evening of vital interest--especially to any normal young man. But Arturo barely glanced at the printed tape lying in the basket; and wholly without interest sat in a shadowed corner of the room. It hurt Dr. Plantet--himself so actively plunged now into this coming crisis of the world’s history--hurt him that he should sire a son like this. * * * * * My picture seems confused. In that quality it approximates the reality, for these days of July, 1990, were indeed a confusion. Dr. Plantet was away for a day several times. Always, while at home, for hours at a time he was shut up alone in the instrument room, talking to New York or London; consulting. A stream of incoming official calls demanded him. I heard him once when he had left the audible speaker connected--heard him being questioned regarding the progress of his ship; and he had replied that already the successful casting had been made in the Norfolk shops. I demanded of Polly what that meant. “He’ll tell you presently, Jeff. You--look here, Jeff, that reminds me.” She put her hands up to my shoulders, holding me to face her. Dear little Polly, so earnest! Her brown eyes were glowing with her earnestness. “Jeff, when father tells you, I want you to persuade him that I am in it, too. You will, won’t you?” “In what, Polly?” “He’ll tell you. He, and you of course, and Arturo--but also myself! There are to be four--I heard him say that. And I want to be the fourth.” I answered her seriously, as I knew she desired. “I can’t promise that, Polly, until I know what it is.” It was nearly the end of July before Dr. Plantet told me of his plans. During all these July days of confusion there had been no further sign of any human enemy menacing our world. Surface traffic by sea had everywhere been discontinued nor were any submersibles in service. The oceans were abandoned, while a tremendous activity on the part of all aircraft organizations was manifest everywhere. No sign of an enemy. There had been minor panics among the publics of the Eastern Islands; but the fear there was gradually waning. And in the Western world, comparatively remote from the scene of the threat, the idea of a human enemy whom no one had ever seen, was derided. It was best perhaps. There is nothing more dangerous than panic.