“Don’t you think,” suddenly exclaimed Lionel, “that the streets are looking more rational than they used to?” They were crossing Piccadilly. “See how these long arcades protect the pedestrians in bad weather; and notice the spacious galleries opened out under the houses where the shops used to be.” “Yes, my lord, shop-land is no more. We owe that improvement to your valet.” “His plan turned out a real success,” said Lionel, “and the fellow is as active in his present work of reform as he was lazy in his past career.” “Idleness has disappeared with the injustice which separated classes; the meanest urchin knows that there is a premium applied to brains, and that premium is—universal happiness.” “Now that we all work,” said Lionel, “you would not find a man or a woman who would not willingly help in the construction of machinery to liberate mankind from slavery. Look at these galleries running under the arcades; in each arch there is a large board with electric bells which communicate with edifices outside London, where all the necessaries of life are fabricated. Each house has one of these boards, and thus meals for invalids, the sweeping and washing up of rooms, in fact, all the necessaries of life can be obtained by merely pressing one of these electric bells.” “Likewise—the dining-halls,” said Danford, “have been considerably improved and simplified; cooking by electricity has given back freedom to thousands of cooks and scullion-maids. Instead of personal attendance, there are trays placed on electric trollies running along in the middle of the dinner-tables, which stop at each guest, and which can be started again on their course by touching a small bell. What a transformation the City has undergone, to be sure. We all put our shoulders to the wheel; at stated hours we work for the welfare of all, and the labour seems light, for it is divided, and the aim is universal contentment. No task is beneath us; no employment is too trivial, were it even to fix a screw in the axle of a small wheel, providing that wheel leads us swiftly to the goal.” “The wrong labour,” broke in Lionel, “was that which toiled for the luxuries of a few to the detriment of the many; but the labour undertaken by all, for the greatest happiness of all, is as exhilarating as the early morning’s breeze.” “You would never know the people you elbow now from those with whom you used to associate,” said Danford. “Could you recall in the man just coming out of the ex-Atheneum Club the former frequenter of the past race-course?” “Ah! that’s the Duke of Norbury,” answered Sinclair. “The fellow looks altogether normal. Certainly he is not so common in his plain—skin.” “That is because his sporting grace has lost the label which directed him to Newmarket,” answered Dan. They had reached Trafalgar Square, and very soon faced Parliament Street. Suddenly the little buffoon halted and, bursting out laughing, exclaimed,—