room where this
proclamation of his was to be made.

This room was grotesquely latter-day in its appointments. In the centre
was a bright oval lit by shaded electric lights from above. The rest
was in shadow, and the double finely fitting doors through which he came
from the swarming Hall of the Atlas made the place very still. The dead
thud of these as they closed behind him, the sudden cessation of the
tumult in which he had been living for hours, the quivering circle of
light, the whispers and quick noiseless movements of vaguely visible
attendants in the shadows, had a strange effect upon Graham. The huge
ears of a phonographic mechanism gaped in a battery for his words, the
black eyes of great photographic cameras awaited his beginning, beyond
metal rods and coils glittered dimly, and something whirled about with a
droning hum. He walked into the centre of the light, and his shadow drew
together black and sharp to a little blot at his feet.

The vague shape of the thing he meant to say was already in his mind.
But this silence, this isolation, the sudden withdrawal from that
contagious crowd, this silent audience of gaping, glaring machines
had not been in his anticipation. All his supports seemed withdrawn
together; he seemed to have dropped into this suddenly, suddenly to have
discovered himself. In a moment he was changed. He found that he now
feared to be inadequate, he feared to be theatrical, he feared the
quality of his voice, the quality of his wit, astonished, he turned to
the man in yellow with a propitiatory gesture. "For a moment," he said,
"I must wait. I did not think it would be like this. I must think of the
thing I have to say."

While he was still hesitating there came an agitated messenger with news
that the foremost aeroplanes were passing over Arawan.

"Arawan?" he said. "Where is that? But anyhow, they are coming. They
will be here. When?"

"By twilight."

"Great God! In only a few hours. What news of the flying stages?" he
asked.

"The people of the south-west wards are ready."

"Ready!"

He turned impatiently to the blank circles of the lenses again.

"I suppose it must be a sort of speech. Would to God I knew certainly
the thing that should be said! Aeroplanes at Arawan! They must have
started before the main fleet. And the people only ready! Surely..."

"Oh! what does it matter whether I speak well or ill?" he said, and felt
the light grow brighter.

He had framed some vagu