"The arrogance of the people knows no limits!" stated one high dignitary, who was believed to enjoy the confidence of no less a personage than Thuno Flâtum himself. "If we were to grant these exactions, the next thing they would ask would be separate houses for each family, or Grade A air, or reduction of taxes on the food, clothing, and water of the Third Class! Doubtless they would expect the First Class, who are legally tax-exempt, to meet these bills instead! No! Obviously such insubordination must be checked before it poisons the entire life of society!"
This sentiment being echoed by First Class citizens everywhere, a battle to the finish was promised. "We will smother rather than submit!" rang out the defiance of the rulers.... "Then we will all smother together!" thundered the retort of the strikers. And already, two "wakes" before the expiration of the ultimatum, serious complications were reported; dozens of strikers, going quietly about their way bearing banners, "We demand a breathing wage!" had been shot in the back by electric bolts launched by the police, in return for what the Wakely Screamer denounced as "their treasonous and seditious interference with business."
If this were but the beginning, a civil war seemed in prospect!
Now, I personally had little interest in the strike, for my work as Ventilation Inspector was fairly easy, my wages were fairly good, and I could see no advantage in facing suffocation merely in order to improve laboring conditions. Besides, I had had the temerity to consult a historical reference work, and knew that ventilation strikes had been occurring at intervals of about thirty years for centuries, and that in every case hundreds of thousands of persons—mostly invalids, women and children, in no wise connected with the strike—had been turned over as a result of interference with the air-supply; while the strikers, if they had been permitted to return to work at all after the settlement, had done so on worse conditions than before.
For this reason, I steadily refused to join the protesting group.
As the time approached for the strikers to put their ultimatum into effect, I could see how excited the people were growing. Business had virtually come to a standstill; along avenues once crowded with dashing vehicles, the "scootscoots" had almost ceased to run; in every side-gallery one could see little knots of chalk-faces anxiously talking, their drawn features and worried eyes bearing testimony to the concern they felt. "And so you think they will really strike?" one would ask.... "Undoubtedly!" another would reply. "I stored up containers of oxygen months ago, for an emergency!"... "Oh, what will I do about the baby's air!" a third would sigh. "I'm sure there'll be a terrible turnover if this keeps up!"... "Never fear!" would be the response. "What's the army for? The government has saved it for just this occasion!"
Meanwhile, the Screamer reported that Dictator Thuno Flâtum was still enjoying his fishing expedition. He had just caught a seven-ounce minnow, it was said, which he had been able to draw out of a subterranean lake by means of a new automatic fishing reel.
At the beginning of that wake on which the ultimatum expired, I reported for work as usual to the Ventilation Office. But, to my surprise, the place was almost deserted; the dozens of regular employees were conspicuously absent; only a worn old drudge of a janitress, languidly mopping the floor, greeted me upon my arrival.
She seemed, indeed, astonished to see me. "Say!—but you are brave, young man!" she gasped. "Don't you value your life?"