Read Online Selected Stories (9781440673832) by Mark (EDT) E.; Mitchell Forster - Free Book Online Page A

brought in a Lee-Metford, 1 and that wouldn’t work.’
    â€˜The laws of science are universal in their application. It must be the water in the moat that has injured the machinery. In normal conditions everything works. Science and the spirit of emulation—those are the forces that have made us what we are.’
    I had to break off and acknowledge the pleasant greetings of people whom we passed. Some of them were singing, some talking, some engaged in gardening, hay-making, or other rudimentary industries. They all seemed happy; and I might have been happy too, if I could have forgotten that the place led nowhere.
    I was startled by a young man who came sprinting across our path, took a little fence in fine style, and went tearing over a ploughed field till he plunged into a lake, across which he began to swim. Here was true energy, and I exclaimed: ‘A cross-country race! Where are the others?’
    â€˜There are no others,’ my companion replied; and, later on, when we passed some long grass from which came the voice of a girl singing exquisitely to herself, he said again: ‘There are no others.’ I was bewildered at the waste in production, and murmured to myself, ‘What does it all mean?’
    He said: ‘It means nothing but itself—and he repeated the words slowly, as if I were a child.
    â€˜I understand,’ I said quietly, ‘but I do not agree. Every achievement is worthless unless it is a link in the chain of development. And I must not trespass on your kindness any longer. I must get back somehow to the road, and have my pedometer mended.’
    â€˜First you must see the gates,’ he replied, ‘for we have gates, though we never use them.’
    I yielded politely, and before long we reached the moat again, at a point where it was spanned by a bridge. Over the bridge was a big gate, as white as ivory, which was fitted into a gap in the boundary hedge. The gate opened outwards, and I exclaimed in amazement, for from it ran a road—just such a road as I had left—dusty under foot, with brown crackling hedges on either side as far as the eye could reach.
    â€˜That’s my road!’ I cried.
    He shut the gate and said: ‘But not your part of the road. It is through this gate that humanity went out countless ages ago, when it was first seized with the desire to walk.’
    I denied this, observing that the part of the road I myself had left was not more than two miles off. But with the obstinacy of his years he repeated: ‘It is the same road. This is the beginning, and though it seems to run straight away from us, it doubles so often that it is never far from our boundary and sometimes touches it.’ He stooped down by the moat, and traced on its moist margin an absurd figure like a maze. As we walked back through the meadows, I tried to convince him of his mistake.
    â€˜The road sometimes doubles, to be sure, but that is part of our discipline. Who can doubt that its general tendency is onward? To what goal we know not—it may be to some mountain where we shall touch the sky, it may be over precipices into the sea. But that it goes forward—who can doubt that? It is the thought of that that makes us strive to excel, each in his own way, and gives us an impetus which is lacking with you. Now that man who passed us—it’s true that he ran well, and jumped well, and swam well; but we have men who can run better, and men who can jump better, and who can swim better. Specialization has produced results which would surprise you. Similarly, that girl—’
    Here I interrupted myself to exclaim: ‘Good gracious me! I could have sworn it was Miss Eliza Dimbleby over there, with her feet in the fountain!’
    He believed that it was.
    â€˜Impossible! I left her on the road, and she is due to lecture this evening at Tunbridge Wells. Why, her train leaves Cannon Street in-of course my watch has stopped like