he
faces of the people who remained. Something was wrong. They knew not
what.

* * * * *

Floating along the sidewalk like a figure in a slow motion picture
came a tiny tot of three. She was sobbing. Great tears formed with
painful slowness and slid down her flushed cheeks.

"She's lost," exclaimed June. "Here, darling, I'll find your mama."

She picked up the child and looked up and down the street. The mother
was not in sight. Automatically she turned to a policeman who stood
nearby.

"Officer," she said quickly, "this girl is lost. Will you...?"

She stiffened in dismay. The policeman was staring through her as if
his eyes had not registered her approach. Slowly his gaze came into
focus. A puzzled look came over his Irish face. He spoke. It was only
a blurred rumble.

"What can I do for her, Father?" June cried, turning away from the
officer in despair. "She's dying. See? Couldn't we give her some of
the drug?"

"There's only enough for us," her father replied firmly.

"But she'll be quite dead in an hour!"

"I'm not so sure of that. Perhaps only in a state resembling
catalepsy. We must wait. Jack, take her into the lobby. Put her on a
sofa there."

Dawn was paling the blue-black sky as the radio engineer returned. The
street lights fluttered fitfully and at last died. The streets had
become deserted although groups still eddied slowly about the subway
kiosks.

"Five forty-five," whispered Manthis. "The end should come any
moment."

As he spoke a white-garbed street sweeper, who had been leaning on his
broom at the curb ever since the onlookers had reached the sidewalk,
decided to move on at last. With infinite slowness his foot came up.
He poised, swung forward, then, the universal paralysis overcoming
him, remained in a strangely ludicrous position for a moment before
crashing downward on his face.

As far as they could see in the semidarkness, others were falling. A
few, balanced with feet wide apart, remained standing like statues.
Those who collapsed writhed slowly a time or two and were still.

After the thudding of the bodies had ended the silence became ghastly.
Not an awakening bird twittered in the trees of Central Park. Not a
sheep bleated in the inclosure. Except for their own breathing and the
sighing of the wind, not a sound! Then a faraway clock boomed six
notes. The noise made them start and turn pale faces toward each
other.

"Come," said the doc