“Otherwise, don’t you see, men would have made their way back here again, back to New York, where all these incalculable treasures seem to have perished, and-”
He broke short off. Again, far off, they heard a faint reechoing roar. For a moment they both sat speechless. What could it be? Some distant wall toppling down? A hungry beast scenting its prey? They could not tell. But Stern smiled.
“I guess,” said he, “guns will be about the first thing I’ll look for, after food. There ought to be good hunting down in the jungles of Fifth Avenue and Broadway!
“You shoot, of course? No? Well, I’ll soon teach you. Lots of things both of us have got to learn now. No end of them!”
He rose from his place on the floor, went over to the window and stood for a minute peering out into the gloom. Then suddenly he turned.
“What’s the matter with me, anyhow?” he exclaimed with irritation. “What right have I to be staying here, theorizing, when there’s work to do? I ought to be busy this very minute!
“In some way or other I’ve got to find food, clothing, tools, arms—a thousand things. And above all, water! And here I’ve been speculating about the past, fool that I am!
“You—you aren’t going to leave me—not to-night?” faltered the girl.
Stern seemed not to have heard her, so strong the imperative of action lay upon him now. He began to pace the floor, sliding and stumbling through the rubbish, a singular figure in his tatters and with his patriarchal hair and beard, a figure dimly seen by the faint light that still gloomed through the window:
“In all that wreckage down below, “said he, as though half to himself, “in all that vast congeries of ruin which once was called New York, surely enough must still remain intact for our small needs. Enough till we can reach the land, the country, and raise food of our own!”
“Don’t go now!” pleaded Beatrice. She, too, stood up, and out she stretched her hands to him. “Don’t, please! We can get along some way or other till morning. At least, I can!”
“No, no, it isn’t right! Down in the shops and stores, who knows but we might find—”
“But you’re unarmed! And in the streets—in the forest, rather—”
“Listen!” he commanded rather abruptly. “This is no time for hesitating or for weakness. I know you’ll stand your share of all that we must suffer, dare and do together.
“Some way or other I’ve got to make you comfortable. I’ve got to locate food and drink immediately. Got to get my bearings. Why, do you think I’m going to let you, even for one night, go fasting and thirsty, sleep on bare cement, and all that sort of thing?
“If so, you’re mistaken! No, you must spare me for an hour or two. Inside of that time I ought to make a beginning!”
“A whole hour?”
“Two would probably be nearer it. I promise to be back inside of that time.”
“But,” and her voice quivered just a trifle, “but suppose some wolf or bear—”
“Oh, I’m not quite so foolhardy as all that!” he retorted. “I’m not going to venture outside till to-morrow. My idea is that I can find at least a few essentials right here in this building.
“It’s a city in itself—or was. Offices, stores, shops, everything right here together in a lump. It can’t possibly take me very long to go down and rummage out something for your comfort.
“Now that the first shock and surprise of our awakening are over, we can’t go on in this way, you know—h’m!—dressed in—well, such exceedingly primitive garb!”
Silently she looked at his dim figure in the dusk. Then she stretched out her hand.
“I’ll go too,” said she quite simply.
“You’d better stay. It’s safer here.”
“No, I’m going.”
“But if we run into dangers?”
“Never mind. Take me with you.”
Over to her he came. He took her hand. In silence he pressed it. Thus for a moment they stood. Then, arousing himself to action, he said: “First of all, a light.”
“A light? How can you make a light? Why, there isn’t a match left anywhere in this whole world.”
“I know, but there are other things. Probably my chemical flasks and vials aren’t injured. Glass is practically imperishable. And if I’m not mistaken, the bottles must be lying somewhere in that rubbish heap over by the window.”
He left her wondering, and knelt among the litter. For a while he silently delved through the triturated bits of punky wood and rust-red metal that now represented the remains of his chemical cabinet.
All at once he exclaimed: “Here’s one! And here’s another! This certainly is luck! H-m! I shouldn’t wonder if I got almost all of them back.”
One by one he found a score of thick, ground-glass vials. Some were broken, probably by the shock when they and the cabinet had fallen, but a good many still remained intact.
Among these were the two essential ones. By the last dim ghost of light through the window, and by the sense of touch, Stern was able to make out the engraved symbols “P” and “S” on these bottles.
“Phosphorus and sulphur,” he commented. “Well, what more could I reasonably ask? Here’s alcohol, too, hermetically sealed. Not too bad, eh?”
While the girl watched, with wondering admiration, Stern thought hard a moment. Then he set to work.
First he took a piece of the corroded metal framework of the cabinet, a steel strip about eighteen inches long, frail in places, but still sufficiently strong to serve his purpose.
Tearing off some rags from his coat-sleeve, he wadded them together into a ball as big as his fist. Around this ball he twisted the metal strip, so that it formed at once a holder and a handle for the rag-mass.
With considerable difficulty he worked the glass stopper out of the alcohol bottle, and with the fluid saturated the rags. Then, on a clear bit of the floor, he spilled out a small quantity of the phosphorus and sulphur.
“This beats getting fire by friction all hollow,” he cheerfully remarked. “I’ve tried that, too, and I guess it’s only in books a white man ever succeeds at it. But this way you see, it’s simplicity itself.”
Very moderate friction, with a bit of wood from the wreckage of the door, sufficed to set the phosphorus ablaze. Stern heaped on a few tiny lumps of sulphur. Then, coughing as the acrid fumes arose from the sputter of blue flame, he applied the alcohol-soaked torch.
Instantly a puff of fire shot up, colorless and clear, throwing no very satisfactory light, yet capable of dispelling the thickest of the gloom.
The blaze showed Stern’s eager face, long-bearded and dusty, as he bent over this crucial experiment.
The girl, watching closely, felt a strange new thrill of confidence and solace. Some realization of the engineer’s resourcefulness came to her, and in her heart she had confidence that, though the whole wide world had crumbled into ruin, yet he would find a way to smooth her path, to be a strength and refuge for her.
But Stern had no time for any but matters of intensest practicality. From the floor he arose, holding the flambeau in one hand, the bottle of alcohol in the other.
“Come now,” bade he, and raised the torch on high to light her way, “You’re still determined to go?”
For an answer she nodded. Her eyes gleamed by the uncanny light.
And so, together, he leading out of the room and along the wrecked hall, they started on their trip of exploration out into the unknown.
CHAPTER VI. TREASURE-TROVE
NEVER before had either of them realized just what the meaning of forty-eight stories might be. For all their memories of this height were associated with smooth-sliding elevators that had whisked them up as though the tremendous height had been the merest trifle.