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~ CHAPTER IV. ~ We have breakfast—Tubular railways—Decide on St. Andrews—New coinage—The tub—Fast travelling. When I woke next morning the sun was shining in at my window. At first I wasn’t very sure where I was; but gradually the events of yesterday began to dawn upon me. I took a furtive look round the room. It was all right—there were my clothes lying where I put them, and there was that patent bath I nearly lost my life in. It evidently had not been a dream. I got up and dressed, taking pretty good care to keep well out of reach of that confounded bath, and hearing what I supposed was the breakfast gong, made my way—I was just going to say downstairs—out into the hall and down the lift. My host met me in the hall below. “Good morning,” he said; “how are you to-day? I was rather doubtful about seeing you this morning; I thought perhaps you would be in another trance.” “Oh, I’m all right,” I replied; “never felt better in my life: I don’t intend to sleep for a hundred years every time I go to bed. I would very soon arrive at the end of the world, and then they wouldn’t know what to do with me.” He ushered me into the breakfast-room, the walls of which were canary colour, shading off to a paler yellow still. On a table in the centre of the room breakfast was set, while on another table at the window were laid out all the morning papers. “Now,” said Mr. Adams, when we had begun breakfast, “what green would you like to play on?” “It’s all one to me,” I answered —“whichever is the most convenient for you.” “They are all equally convenient,” he replied, “from Thurso to Penzance.” “But I thought you were going to play to-day,” I said; “and it would take a day to get to either of those places, wouldn’t it?” He laughed. “My good friend,” he said, still smiling, “you forget you are in the year 2000, and can travel from one end of Great Britain to the other in half an hour. If you cared, we could even play a round on both of the greens I mentioned.” “What, then, may I ask, is your motive-power now? You could not get that speed out of an engine worked by steam.” “Electricity,” he replied, briefly—“tubular railways. All the lines are underground. But you will soon see for yourself. Have you settled what green you would like to play on?” “Well,” I said, “if I am to have my choice, what do you say to St. Andrews —if it’s still in existence, that is to say?” “St. Andrews, then, be it,” he said, rising, as we finished breakfast. “Look here,” I said, “before we go any further, do your friends know about my lying in that trance all that time?” “Yes,” he answered, “some of them do, and they will be very much interested when they see you. And the doctors, too, who examined you—we must let them know.” “I would much rather you did not,” I said—“at least for a little, till I get used to it. I don't exactly like the idea of being made a show of. You can introduce me as a friend or far-off cousin, can’t you?” “Very well, just as you like; but you know it must come out some time. In about two months it will be time for the doctors to come here in order to examine you again.” “Oh,” I replied, “I don’t mind after a bit, when the strangeness wears off; only at first, you know . . .” “Right you are,” he said; “for the present you are a distant connection. But we must start if we want to have a round at St. Andrews this morning. Come along, we have just time to catch the ‘tub.’” This was the contraction by which, as I found, the carriages in the tubular railway were familiarly styled. We got on our hats—or caps, I should rather call them—and hurried out. Tall hats, I am glad to be able to inform you, are quite out of date in the year 2000. How the men in the nineteenth century could put up with them was always a mystery to me. They all, without exception, said they hated them; yet they always went on wearing them. I owned one, I have to admit, but luckily never had to put it on except to go to funerals. Indeed, it got so associated in my mind with funerals, that, if ever I wanted to feel sad, I just put it on and took a walk. Before I had gone half a dozen yards I was as sad as need be. You know the saddest time you ever had?—well, as sad as that. We hadn’t gone very far when my companion turned into a large, handsome building, where he at once approached a turnstile sort of arrangement, put a coin into a slit in the wall, and went through. He gave me a coin of the period, of the value of five shillings, and I followed his example. The coinage was quite altered and much simpler. The decimal system was used; ten pence made one shilling, and ten shillings made one pound. We were now in a small round room, which, as soon as we entered, descended a short distance, and deposited us in a long-shaped chamber brilliantly lighted. In this we found some half-dozen other men sitting about, smoking and reading the papers. My companion seemed to be known to most of them, judging from the “Morning, Adams,” with which he was greeted by several. Nodding a reply, he turned to an elderly gentleman who sat in a corner and entered into earnest conversation with him. I now had leisure to examine my fellow-travellers. They all seemed to be men of middle age, but the hairless condition of all their faces made it difficult to guess their ages. They were all dressed in the same stuff as we were ourselves; but a variety of colours was to be seen, chiefly dark browns and greys, with caps to match. As I sat watching the men of the twenty-first century curiously, a bell gave a sharp, clear ring, and the lift again descended. Three men got out of it, and two who had been sitting by themselves rose and stepped in and ascended by it. I noticed at one end of the room, in large letters, the word “Edinburgh.” “What will that mean?” I wondered; but the next moment the name had disappeared. Mr. Adams now came over and sat down beside me. “How do you like this mode of travelling?” he asked. “Very well indeed,” I answered; “but when do we start?” “Start?” he said: “we are almost there; that was Edinburgh we passed a minute ago. Did you not notice it?” “Yes, I did,” I replied; “I noticed the word ‘Edinburgh’ in big letters up there, but had no idea what it meant. But do you mean we are flying along just now? Why, I haven’t felt a single motion since we came in.” “Ah! You see the perfection we have brought travelling to nowadays. But here we are,” he said, jumping up, and at the same time I noticed, on the same place where I had seen “Edinburgh,” the name “St. Andrews.” The lift descending at the same time, we got into it along with two other men, and were at once transferred into a large hall.
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