Ralph 124C 41+, in New York, four thousand miles distant, had turned off the power of his ultra-generator.
He climbed down his glass ladder, stepped over to the Telephot, and found that Alice had already reached her instrument.
She looked at the man smiling in the faceplate of the Telephot almost dumb with an emotion that came very near to being reverence.
The voice that reached him was trembling and he could see her struggle for coherent speech.
"It's gone," she gasped; "what did you do?"
"Melted it."
"Melted it!" she echoed, "I—"
Before she could continue, the door in her room burst violently open and in rushed a fear-stricken old man. Alice flew to his arms, crying, "Oh father—"
Ralph 124C 41+ with discretion disconnected the Telephot.