Short stories; United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
Right was Solomon when he said that there was nothing new under the sun.
Sardanapalus or Semiramis herself would not have been at all startled
to hear a human voice proclaim the hour. The phonographic clock had
but replaced the slave whose business, standing by the noiseless
water-clock, it was to keep tale of the moments as they dropped, ages
before they had been taught to tick.
In the morning, on descending, I went first to the clerk's office to
inquire for letters, thinking Hamage, who knew I would go to that hotel
if any, might have addressed me there. The clerk handed me a small
oblong box. I suppose I stared at it in a rather helpless way, for
presently he said: “I beg your pardon, but I see you are a stranger. If
you will permit me, I will show you how to read your letter.”
I gave him the box, from which he took a device of spindles and
cylinders, and placed it deftly within another small box which stood
on the desk. Attached to this was one of the two-pronged ear-trumpets I
already knew the use of. As I placed it in position, the clerk touched
a spring in the box, which set some sort of motor going, and at once
the familiar tones of Dick Haulage's voice expressed his regret that an
accident had prevented his meeting me the night before, and informed me
that he would be at the hotel by the time I had breakfasted.
The letter ended, the obliging clerk removed the cylinders from the box
on the desk, replaced them in that they had come in, and returned it to
me.
“Is n't it rather tantalizing,” said I, “to receive one of these letters
when there is no little machine like this at hand to make it speak?”
“It does n't often happen,” replied the clerk, “that anybody is caught
without his indispensable, or at least where he cannot borrow one.”
“His indispensable!” I exclaimed: “What may that be?”
In reply the clerk directed my attention to a little box, not wholly
unlike a case for a binocular glass, which, now that he spoke of it, I
saw was carried, slung at the side, by every person in sight.
“We call it the indispensable because it is indispensable, as, no doubt,
you will soon find for yourself.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account