This little farce comedy of the future was originally a four-act drama. It was written seventeen years ago, immediately after the Helicon Hall fire, as a means of diverting the writer’s mind from thoughts of that tragic event. The play was accepted for production by David Belasco, but years of delay took place, and finally the manuscript was submitted to other managers, and in the course of time all copies were lost. If this should come to the eye of anyone having a copy, the writer will be glad to hear from him.

The present version has been sketched out for an editor friend who wanted to publish the story as a serial. Readers of an observant turn of mind will detect the outlines of the play. Act I was laid in the Roof Garden of the Pleasure Palace; Act II in the Entrance Hall at the foot of the ninety-nine flights of stairs; Act III in the kitchen of the Consolidated Hotel; Act IV at the Country Estate of the Lumley-Gothams. New material, not in the play, was supplied between the last two acts. It is amusing to note that many details about airplanes and wireless telephones, imaginary when the play was written, are now everyday affairs to us all!

For the original suggestion of this story the author is indebted to Mr. Fred D. Warren, from whom he purchased the idea.
 
 

Upton Sinclair

Pasadena, California.

February, 1924.
 
 

It was shortly before the hour set for the opening ceremonies, when Billy Kingdon stepped out of the elevator upon the roof-garden of the palace, and stood for a moment gazing about him, awe-stricken.

He had read long accounts of the structure which the ruling-class had reared for its pleasure in the midst of Central Park. He had read of the elaborate ceremonies with which the opening was to be celebrated. He stared now at the towering columns, eight or ten feet thick; and at the fairy-like fresco of lights in the glass roof, so high overhead that it seemed to outreach the stars. He realized that the gold tessellated floor beneath his feet was a hundred stories in the air—nearly half a mile above the teeming city of New York.

The head butler, gorgeous in the uniform of the upper-servant caste, stepped up to demand his business.

"Captain of the aeroplane," answered Billy.

"Your pass?"

He took it from his pocket, and the head butler inspected it. At the same moment the major-domo of the Pleasure Palace stepped up.

"You understand," he said, "that Mr. Lumley-Gotham is in the building? Your pass has to be counter-signed."

"I have had that attended to," was Billy’s reply.

The other took the paper and scrutinized it carefully, comparing its number and signatures with certain entries in his notebook. It had been only a week ago that some anarchists had made an attempt upon the life of Lumley-Gotham, and police precautions had been redoubled.

As the major-domo handed back the pass, he looked more cordially at this handsome young fellow, wearing the simple grey uniform of the engineering caste. "You are young for a master-aeronaut."

"I have worked hard," Billy answered.

"You have the most important assignment of your career to-night. Good luck to you."

"Where is the aeroplane?" Billy inquired, and the head butler pointed to one side of the roof-garden, where through the open spaces between the snow-white columns, the light framework of the machine could be dimly made out. Billy hastened towards it, and at the edge of the landing-stage stopped and gazed at it.

He loved this marvellous aeroplane, in the designing of which he had assisted. She was five hundred feet long, and balanced herself; no storm could affect her; she turned somersaults in the air without danger to her passengers. For over a hundred years the world’s cleverest minds had been devoted to making the perfect flying-machine, and now, in the year 2000, there she stood—"The Monarch of the Air!" A thousand miles an hour was her speed, and at dawn she was to take a part of the chosen ones of the earth, the guests of Mrs. Lumley-Gotham, following the sunrise in a journey around the world.

Billy turned his gaze for a few moments to the panorama of the city, upon which he looked as if from a mountain-height. Then he gazed into the ball-room, whose walls were a blend of tropical flowers and soft, golden lights. There were lackeys, in gold and azure uniforms and powdered wigs, moving about, swinging censers. The sound of faint music was heard, played by an orchestra far off in the city, conveyed by electricity to every portion of the hundred-story palace. Following the movement and rhythm of the music, the lights in the roof varied continuously in intensity and colour—for the artists of this time had worked out the problem of harmonizing music and light.

Billy’s wondering thoughts were suddenly interrupted. There was a rustle of skirts behind him, and a voice, low and agitated—"Billy Kingdon!"

He turned, and gave a suppressed cry:

"Helen!"

The girl shrank back into the shadow of one of the pillars. "Billy! What does this mean?" She cried.

"It means," said he, with a laugh, "that I am the captain of the aeroplane!"

"Billy Kingdon!"

"My name is Smith, now; Henry Smith."

"But you will be recognized! It was madness for you to come!"

"I have changed a lot in five years, Helen. There is no need for you to worry."

"But my father is to be here to-night!"

"Yes," said Billy, with a smile, "the major-domo did not fail to inform me of that."

"But don’t you know that he would have you killed, if he discovered you? He would think it was another plot against his life. Oh, why should you take such a risk?"

"I have taken many risks," answered the other. "I risked my life when I deserted my own class to join the labour caste. I risked it again when I became an engineer without revealing my true identity. I have grown used to such risks."

"But why do an insane thing like this? Don’t you know that even my husband might come here to-night?"

"Don’t talk to me about him!" exclaimed the youth.

"But think what he would do if he recognized you! Why be so reckless?"

The young man waved his hand towards the aeroplane. "There is the reason. The Monarch of the Air!"

"You care that much about an aeroplane?"

"Look at the curve of her wings! Wait until you have felt the quiver of her as she moves!" He laughed excitedly. But then his manner changed. He leaned forward, studying the woman’s face. "Do you believe what I am saying?"

"Why not?"

He took a step towards her. "No, Helen! I came for something else!" And as she shrank away: "I came for you!" he whispered. "Answer me. You still love me?"

"I dare not answer, Billy—you know it."

"Because you are married?"

"Partly that———"

"Helen, that was no marriage, it was a sale! You know he did not love you; you knew it then. You knew that he wanted the daughter of Lumley-Gotham, he wanted to be your father’s master."

"Don’t bring all that up!" she cried. "I can’t bear it!"

"I bring all that up," he said, "because I want you to come with me."

"But where? Where could we go that my husband would not find us? Billy, he would never give us up. He would hunt us out, and when he found us he would torture us to death! You don’t realize how he has things organized—all the machinery of spying!"

Billy laughed. "No one knows better that I," he said. "I help to keep his world going."

"But do you realize his persistence? It is madness to think that I could escape! He would know it was you who came for me."

"Listen," said Billy, quickly. "I have not come without a plan. I am captain of the aeroplane. I will be the master of their fate and of our own for twenty-four hours. I will be the only man on board who knows how to run the aeroplane. I will pretend that the machinery is out of order. When we are over Central Africa, I will alight in a lonely place, and step out to examine the propeller. You will follow me, without being seen by anyone. I will set the machinery so that it will start—they will rise in the air again, without me. In the excitement, you will not be missed. They will think you have fallen overboard."

The girl stood in anxious thought. "But, Billy," she said, "what will become of them?"

"The aeroplane is self-balancing. She is as safe in the air as a cork on the surface of the water. They will drift until they are found. They will communicate with the nearest rescue station by their wireless telephone. They will be located at once—we have new machinery for such work. The rescue party will reach them in a few minutes, and will put a pilot on board to take them home. Can you imagine that the world would let anything happen to Lumley-Gotham, its owner?"

Helen was silent. The plan was a mad one, yet it might succeed. "What would become of us," she whispered, "alone in the wilderness?"

"We shall have food and weapons. I have provided everything that is necessary. Your husband has not yet perfected a device for locating a solitary man and woman in the heart of Central Africa!"

Seeing that she was wavering, he started towards her, pleading, "Helen, what else is there in life for us? I have travelled to the ends of the earth, trying to forget you. I have risked my life a hundred times—but apparently I cannot die, and I know that I cannot live without you."

He saw the terror in her countenance. "Oh, wait, wait!" she exclaimed. "Give me time; you must let me think it over." She caught herself together and drew back, for it was an unheard of thing for a woman of her class to be talking with a low caste man.

He answered. "You have several hours to think it over. But let me tell you this: Whatever you decide, the aeroplane will stop, and I shall be left behind. The only question is, whether you step out upon the ground with me, or whether you go off with the rest. You understand that?"

"Yes, yes," she whispered. And then looking about and seeing a servant approaching, she turned and moved swiftly away.
 
 

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