Diagonally across from me, a hundred feet over the circle, close under the roof, was a strip of the huge luminous call board. I chanced to be gazing at the G segment--a column of the Gr names. They flashed past in moving letters: Gran, George; Grad, Francis M.; Grammer, Ruth--people, who might be in the crowd, for whom there was a message. And then, Grant, Geoffry. My name! Some one calling me. I went to the nearest box. “Geoffry Grant--am I called?” The girl clicked me into a distant connection; on the tiny mirror I saw the image of Dr. Plantet’s solemn face, with Polly behind him. “Jeff?” “Yes.” “I’ve tried everywhere for you, for an hour. They said at your office you might have gone to New York.” “Yes.” “Where are you?” “New York. Park Circle 80.” “It’s come again, Jeff. Tide-water fell to-day--they figure now it’s falling more than twice as fast as it ever did before. Good luck, Jeff--” “Yes, I know, I’ve just been hearing the official report.” “I’ve been swamped with calls, but I wanted to get hold of you. Oh, they’re not so incredulous of us now! I’ve had twenty of them calling me, to see what I thought ought to be done.” “Yes.” An inexplicable constraint was on me. I knew I should join with vigor whatever Dr. Plantet might plan. But I felt an outcast; something was pulling at me, away from him; making me silent, cautious of committing myself to anything. His tense voice went on; his keen eyes showed in the mirror; I knew he was searching my face; behind him I could see Polly, reaching over his shoulder to catch sight of me. “Jeff, they want me to-morrow or the next day in Washington. Great London will want us also. I suppose the Dolphin will be used. I don’t know why they are convinced just by to-day’s reports, but they are. This is the real menace, Jeff. They all say so, and I feel it myself.” “Yes,” I repeated lamely. “The oceans are falling--this time they will keep on, faster; it has come, at last. Jeff, I want you up here--” “Yes.” It sounded so horribly stupid, my dumb repetition. “--want you to catch the 2 A.M. mail. Polly and I will meet you at Portland--” “Yes--no! No, Dr. Plantet!” I felt as though I had suddenly found my wits. I could not go to Maine--I was wanted, needed, elsewhere. “No--I cannot.” “Why not? Why, Jeff--” His voice was hurt, puzzled. How could I explain to him? There seemed nothing to explain. I swept my hand over my cold, wet forehead. I felt like a traitor. “No, I--I can’t come.” It seemed as though, pressing around me in the breathless little cubby, were something of Arturo, and Nereid, and the face of young Tad Megan--here--like pressing ghosts, importuning me. “No, Dr. Plantet--” “Jeff, see here!” His voice was sharp. “What is this nonsense? What’s the matter with you? Speak out, lad.” * * * * *