But neither he nor the girl had very much time for introspective thought. Each moment brought its immediate task, and every day seemed busier than the last had been.
At meals, however, or at evening, as they sat together by the light of their lamp in the now homelike offices, Stern and Beatrice found pleasure in a little random speculation. Often they discussed the catastrophe and their own escape.
Stern brought to mind some of Professor Raoul Pictet’s experiments with animals, in which the Frenchman had suspended animation for long periods by sudden freezing. This method seemed to answer, in a way, the girl’s earlier questions as to how they had escaped death in the many long winters since they had gone to sleep.
Again, they tried to imagine the scenes just following the catastrophe, the horror of that long-past day, and the slow, irrevocable decay of all the monuments of the human race.
Often they talked till past midnight, by the glow of their stone fireplace, and many were the aspects of the case that they developed. These hours seemed to Stern the happiest of his life.
For the rapprochement between this beautiful woman and himself at such times became very close and fascinatingly intimate, and Stern felt, little by little, that the love which now was growing deep within his heart for her was not without its answer in her own.
But for the present the man restrained himself and spoke no overt word. For that, he understood, would immediately have put all things on a different basis—and there was urgent work still waiting to be done.
“There’s no doubt in my mind,” said he one day as they sat talking, “that you and I are absolutely the last human beings—civilized I mean—left alive anywhere in the world.
“If anybody else had been spared, whether in Chicago or San Francisco, in London, Paris or Hong-Kong, they’d have made some determined effort before now to get in touch with New York. This, the prime center of the financial and industrial world, would have been their first objective point.”
“But suppose,” asked she, “there were others, just a few here or there, and they’d only recently waked up, like ourselves. Could they have succeeded in making themselves known to us so soon?”
He shook a dubious head.
“There may be some one else, somewhere,” he answered slowly, “but there’s nobody else in this part of the world, anyhow. Nobody in this particular Eden but just you and me. To all intents and purposes I’m Adam. And you—well, you’re Eve! But the tree? We haven’t found that—yet.”
She gave him a quick, startled glance, then let her head fall, so that he could not see her eyes. But up over her neck, her cheek and even to her temples, where the lustrous masses of hair fell away, he saw a tide of color mount.
And for a little space the man forgot to smoke. At her he gazed, a strange gleam in his eyes.
And no word passed between them for a while. But their thoughts—?
CHAPTER XIII. THE GREAT EXPERIMENT
THE idea that there might possibly be others of their kind in far-distant parts of the earth worked strongly on the mind of the girl. Next day she broached the subject again to her companion.
“Suppose,” theorized she, “there might be a few score of others, maybe a few hundred, scattered here and there? They might awaken one by one, only to die, if less favorably situated than we happen to be. Perhaps thousands may have slept, like us, only to wake up to starvation!”
“There’s no telling, of course,” he answered seriously. “Undoubtedly that may be very possible. Some may have escaped the great death, on high altitudes—on the Eiffel Tower, for instance, or on certain mountains or lofty plateaus. The most we can do for the moment is just to guess at the probabilities. And—”
“But if there are people elsewhere?” she interrupted eagerly, her eyes glowing with hope, “isn’t there any way to get in touch with them? Why don’t we hunt? Suppose only one or two in each country should have survived; if we could get them all together again in a single colony—don’t you see?”
“You mean the different languages and arts and all the rest might still be preserved? The colony might grow and flourish, and mankind again take possession of the earth and conquer it, in a few decades? Yes, of course. But even though there shouldn’t be anybody else, there’s no cause for despair. Of that, however, we won’t speak now.”
“But why don’t we try to find out about it?” she persisted. “If there were only the remotest chance—”
“By Jove, I will try it!” exclaimed the engineer, fired with a new thought, a fresh ambition. “How? I don’t know just yet, but I’ll see. There’ll be a way, right enough, if I can only think it out!”
That afternoon he made his way down Broadway, past the copper-shop, to the remains of the telegraph office opposite the Flatiron.
Into it he penetrated with some difficulty. A mournful sight it was, this one-time busy ganglion of the nation’s nerve-system. Benches and counters were quite gone, instruments corroded past recognition, everything in hideous disorder.
But in a rear room Stern found a large quantity of copper wire. The wooden drums on which it had been wound were gone; the insulation had vanished, but the coils of wire still remained.
“Fine!” said the explorer, gathering together several coils. “Now when I get this over to the Metropolitan, I think the first step toward success will have been taken.”
By nightfall he had accumulated enough wire for his tentative experiments. Next day he and the girl explored the remains of the old wireless station on the roof of the building, overlooking Madison Avenue.
They reached the roof by climbing out of a window on the east side of the tower and descending a fifteen-foot ladder that Stern had built for the purpose out of rough branches.
“You see it’s fairly intact as yet,” remarked the engineer, gesturing at the bread expanse. “Only, falling stones have made holes here and there. See how they yawn down into the rooms below! Well, come on, follow me. I’ll tap with the ax, and if the roof holds me you’ll be safe.”
Thus, after a little while, they found a secure path to the little station.
This diminutive building, fortunately constructed of concrete, still stood almost unharmed. Into it they penetrated through the crumbling door. The winds of heaven had centuries ago swept away all trace of the ashes of the operator.
But there still stood the apparatus, rusted and sagging and disordered, yet to Stern’s practiced eye showing signs of promise. An hour’s careful overhauling convinced the engineer that something might yet be accomplished.
And thus they set to work in earnest.
First, with the girl’s help, he strung his copper-wire antennae from the tiled platform of the tower to the roof of the wireless station. Rough work this was, but answering the purpose as well as though of the utmost finish.
He connected up the repaired apparatus with these antennae, and made sure all was well. Then he dropped the wires over the side of the building to connect with one of the dynamos in the sub-basement.
All this took two and a half days of severe labor, in intervals of food-getting, cooking and household tasks. At last, when it was done—
“Now for some power!” exclaimed the engineer. And with his lamp he went down to inspect the dynamos again and to assure himself that his belief was correct, his faith that one or two of them could be put into running order.
Three of the machines gave little promise, for water had dripped in on them and they were rusted beyond any apparent rehabilitation. The fourth, standing nearest Twenty-Third Street, had by some freak of chance been protected by a canvas cover.