The broad stream of sunlight flowed through the house like a steady ripple of Lethe, washing away the sandy shelves of trivial Now, dissolving little edges of past and future into its current, drawing all Time together in one clear onward sluice. What are we waiting for, she wondered. What is everyone waiting for, always? She was painfully aware of George standing near her. It was not silence that sundered them, but their grotesque desire to speak. “George,” Phyllis was saying, “you give Ben a drink or something while I take the ladies----” In the shadow beyond the table there was a clicking sound. Through the wide opening of the dining-room double doors two figures crawled, on all fours, with a toy train. Janet was in her pyjamas, ready for bed. Martin’s hand moved the engine across the floor. They came into the stripe of sunset. “Wait a minute!” cried Janet. “Here’s one of the passengers.” “Put him in,” said Martin. “And then the train goes round a sharp curve and smashes into a lot of people, bing!” “Quick, I’ll telephone for a nambulance. You adbretized Perfect Safety on this railroad. It said so in your booklet.” “Well, if people will sit down for a Picnic right on the main line----” “Goodness, what a nasinine thing to do.” “They were using the hot rails to fry their bacon on.” “Here’s the doctor. Are there any children hurt?” “Children all safe,” said Martin, looking carefully through the wreckage. “A lot of grown-ups badly damaged.” “Here’s the pistol. Put them out of their misery.” “Bang-bang-bang!” “They didn’t suffer much. I’ll go for the wrecking train.” “Janet!” exclaimed Phyllis. “What are you _doing_, running about the house in your pyjamas. And you’ve got sniffles already.” The two players looked up; but they could see nothing outside their tunnel of brightness. The voice seemed like imagination. “Of course the railroad company will have to pay money for those valuable lives,” said Martin regretfully. “I’ll get the blocks, we can build a norphan asylum for the surveyors.” “Not surveyors, survivors.” “Janet! Say good-night to Mr. Martin and run upstairs.” This time the command was unmistakable. Janet became aware of tall ominous figures emerging from the surrounding dusk. “Good-night!” she cried hastily, and ran. “I’m afraid Janet’s manners are terrible,” Phyllis said. “She ought to have shaken hands, but I don’t like to call her back now, she’ll catch more cold.” Two other forms appeared at the top of the stairs. “Is to-morrow the Picnic?” they called anxiously. Martin was still sitting on the floor, musing over the disaster. Janet halted halfway up and shouted. “He says you said Damn the Picnic.” Sylvia and Rose burst into snivels. There was a moment of difficult pause. Martin realized that something was happening and began collecting the train. “You _promised_ the Picnic for to-morrow,” he said, looking up from where he was kneeling.