“All over the map! We’re frying, from coast to coast.”
“And abroad?”
“Cooked, everywhere!” He paused, and turned an imploring face to Jim. “Tell me, Carter—what’s happening? You’ve seen Wentworth, I suppose. What’s he make of it?”
“He—doesn’t know.”
“God help us! Well, go write your story. If we’ve got a plant by press time, we’ll have something on page one to-morrow—if there’s anyone to read it.”
By morning the fires in the metropolitan area had been brought under control and it was found that neither the loss of life nor the damage was as great as had at first been feared. Mainly it was the older types of buildings that had suffered the most.
The same thing was true in other parts of the country and elsewhere in the world; and elsewhere, as in New York, people pulled themselves together, cleared up the debris, and went ahead with their occupations. Business was resumed, and rebuilding operations were begun.
Meanwhile, where were those fiery moths that had sprung so devastatingly from their strange cocoons?
For a while no one knew and it was believed they had indeed winged off into interstellar space, as Joan had suggested that night on Observatory Hill.