They sank. They sank. Light—darkness—light—darkness again.
“Will you come to me, Josaphat?”
“Yes!” said the strange man with incomparable fervour. “Yes!”
They dropped into light. Freder seized him by the arm and dragged him out with him, out of the great pump-works of the New Tower of Babel, holding him fast as he reeled.
“Where do you live, Josaphat?”
“Ninetieth Block. House seven. Seventh floor.”
“Then go home, Josaphat. Perhaps I shall come to you myself; perhaps I shall send a messenger who will bring you to me. I do not know what the next few hours will bring forth.... But I do not want any man I know, if I can prevent it, to lie a whole night long, staring up at the ceiling until it seems to come crashing down on him....”
“What can I do for you?” asked the man.
Freder felt the vice-like pressure of his hand. He smiled. He shook his head. “Nothing. Go home. Wait. Be calm. To-morrow will bring another day and I hope a fair one....”
The man loosened the grip of his hand and went. Freder watched him go. The man stopped and looked back at Freder, and dropped his head with an expression which was so earnest, so unconditional, that the smile died on Freder’s lips.