But what particularly engaged my attention was a genial little satire known as “The Prisoner.” This story, which was written in a crisp and simple style that I found delightful, recounted how an Atlantean of a thousand years before had been sentenced, as the penalty for his sins, to pass his remaining years in the upper world. Having been sent above seas in a little water-tight craft propelled by intra-atomic engines, he had set about to seek his fortune in his new surroundings; and, finding that the way to win distinction was to accumulate much gold, he applied his superior Atlantean wits so well that in a short while he became fabulously wealthy. But, after attaining what was reputed to be success, he discovered that his wealth meant nothing to him; he was hungry for the art and the beauty of Atlantis, without which the world seemed barbarous and empty. Even though he could have purchased any treasure or luxury on earth, he took to morbid repining; he brooded and brooded until he went completely out of his wits, which were finally restored to him when the Atlanteans took pity and decided to let him return. And so the poor man went back to his native land, having first forfeited his riches; and this was the last case of insanity even known among the Atlanteans. I had just completed this little story when I was roused to reality by hearing a strange voice sonorously pronouncing my name. Looking up, I saw a lavender-gowned man motioning me toward the main Committee Room; and I observed with surprise that the youths and the girl had disappeared while I was absorbed in my book. I found the central hall empty except for the fifteen men and women sedately seated behind the railing; but at sight of these grave individuals I felt my misgivings returning, and wished that I could have been anywhere else in the universe. “This is Anson Harkness, is it not?” rang forth the high-pitched and yet not unpleasant voice of an aged man whose proximity to the railing indicated that he was the head of the Committee. And after I had assured him that I was the person designated, the Head Member continued, earnestly and yet not so menacingly as I had expected, “Be seated, Anson Harkness. It is an important matter that brings you here. And I believe that, in your case, more than the usual amount of time and thought will be necessary before we can reach a decision.” The Head Member paused, cleared his throat, and slowly proceeded, “I trust that you will co-operate with us to the best of your ability, for only so can we expect satisfactory results. Just as the average man is betrothed but once in his life, so he appears but once before this Committee; and since, as in the case of a betrothal, much may depend upon the proper choice--” “I beg your pardon, sir,” I interrupted, unable to endure these long-winded sentences that only added to my confusion, “Would you mind telling me why I am here? As yet I haven’t the faintest idea.”