The month of Finis had passed, and it was Old-Year-Day; to-morrow would be New-Year’s-Day, A.D. 2001.

In the conservatory, among the roses, geraniums and violets, with scissors and twine in their hands, were Marie and Mollie. As fresh and bright as the flowers about them, they chatted and laughed as they clipped the buds and fashioned the floral pieces which were to grace the private room of the executive mansion on the morrow.

New-Year’s-Day was a great day, in this new era of time. It was a day upon which all toil ceased, and all hearts were made glad by the exchange of good wishes and good cheer.

The President held a great reception from 9 until 11 dial, and after that hour devoted the afternoon to his family and intimate friends. In the evening the day was crowned by a magnificent ball; such had been the custom for years in Washington on New-Year’s-Day.

With deft fingers, the two girls made the pretty floral pieces: one for papa and mamma; one each for Hugh and Junius; and Lester was to have one—Mollie said two—sent to his hotel.

“Well, if you send him two, I shall send another to Hugh,” cried Marie, with a pretty, threatening gesture.

“Marie Colchester, you are in love!” and Mollie stopped in her work to note the effect of her words.

“Oh!” prolonged and low from her companion.

“Yes, you are,” teasingly.

“O Mollie Craft! How can you ever say such a thing?” and the blushes overspread her whole face.

“You are a little traitor,” with a show of anger.

Marie looked up as if uncertain of her friend’s meaning, but the twinkle in the latter’s eye satisfied her that no belligerent intentions were premeditated.

“How so, Mollie?” demurely, as she clipped a japonica rose from its stalk.

“How so? Didn’t I ask you to come here and win the love of Junius Cobb so as to free me from the pain of seeing his love for me unreturned? Didn’t you agree to throw yourself away for Lester’s sake and mine? Didn’t you tell me that you knew he couldn’t help loving you, and that his heart would soon be lying at your feet like a—a—a sponge-cake stepped upon by an elephant? There!”

“O Mollie! I didn’t say all that!” cried Marie, in confusion.

“Yes, you did; you know you did,” shaking her scissors at the other.

“Well, haven’t I tried to make him love me? Oh, I am so ashamed! Trying to make a man love me, and he won’t show the least little bit of love,” and she hid her face in her hands, in apparent distress.

“That’s all put on, miss; as if I couldn’t see. You were not here a week before you had that great big brother of mine dancing after you as if tied to your apron-strings,” and Mollie looked severely at the culprit.

“But, Mollie, I couldn’t help it. He would come—and come, and stay—and stay—and—and—I didn’t know you objected—and I’ll go away to-morrow,” and the poor girl burst into a flood of tears, and sank beside the floral tribute to her lover.

In an instant Mollie was by her side, her white arms clasped around the sobbing girl, and the kisses checking the rain of tears.

“There, there, Marie, my own true girl!” she coaxingly said, “I was only teasing you. I would not, indeed I would not, have said it if I had thought you would have believed me in earnest. I am proud of my brother’s choice; I want you for a sister.”

“And you are not angry with me for not loving Mr. Cobb?” looking up beseechingly.

“No, dear girl. I love Junius, for he is a noble though a silent man. It would have given me great pleasure to have seen him love and marry you, Marie, for you will be a prize to your husband; but, to be my brother’s wife, that is better still,” and she kissed the red, quivering lips of the girl, and gently raised her form from the ground.

Thus another scheme devised by human minds had failed.

Hugh Craft had been won by the innocence and loveliness of this girl; had given her his whole heart, and had received hers, with its wealth of love, in return. Their love plighted, and sitting by his side one afternoon in the conservatory, whither he had led her to enjoy, unmolested, her sweet society, she had told him the story of her coming, her identity and her relationship to Lester Hathaway. And then, under his promise of secrecy, she had told him of Lester’s infatuation and semi-engagement to Mollie. Loving this woman as he did, he could find no fault with his sister for loving the brother; but in deference to Marie’s wishes, he had refrained from informing his sister and her lover that their secret was known.

It was New-Year’s night, and the grand ball-room of the executive mansion was a scene of beauty and splendor. Incandescent lights hung in huge festoons from the ceiling; beautiful women and brilliant uniforms mingled in one grand, gorgeous panorama.

Out from the moving multitude came Hugh Craft, with Marie leaning on his arm. Pausing at the grand stairway to the supper-room, Hugh sent word to Lester and Mollie to meet him in the conservatory.

A few minutes later they were joined by Mollie and her lover, who found them standing under the rose arbor at the lower end of the conservatory. As they approached, Hugh left the side of Marie, and, confronting Lester, addressed him in a tone of severity:

“You have made love to my sister, sir!”

Mollie uttered a little scream, and clung to the arm of Lester, while Marie stood mute in astonishment at the scene.

“I repeat it, sir,” continued Hugh, in harsh and severe tones; “you have been guilty of engaging yourself to my sister.”

For a moment Lester Hathaway stood looking at the other, not knowing what answer to make. His sister must have told Hugh of his secret, he thought; then, boldly:

“And you, sir, have made love to my sister!”

Hugh was surprised at the retort, for he did not know of the interview between the two girls, of the day before, nor that Mollie had told Lester all about it.

“I admit it,” he smilingly said.

“And so do I,” returned Lester, as the twinkle in Hugh’s eye gave him the assurance that there was no anger in his words.

“You want her, Lester?”

“And you want her, Hugh?”

So rapidly had the words been spoken that the girls had had no time to speak.

“Yes; and you?”

“Want her forever.”

“Then, Lester, let us trade sisters,” and he laughed heartily as he saw the comical expression which came over Mollie’s face as she realized the situation.

“You are real mean, Hugh, to scare us that way. Look at poor Marie; she doesn’t know yet if you are in earnest or not,” and Mollie looked toward the girl.

“She knows now,” as he clasped her in his arms and kissed her lips.

“Oh!” exclaimed Mollie.

Then these lovers sat and discussed their hopes and plans. Sympathy, deep and true, was expressed for Junius Cobb; for it had been noticed by all that an appearance of sadness was ever in his face. He seemed devoid of energy and all desire for amusement. He cared not for the society of women; even Mollie received far less attention from him than formerly; not that she believed he thought any less of her, but that he never did actually love her. In her kind heart, she suggested to the others that they combine their forces, and endeavor to arouse him from the apathy into which he certainly was sinking. Each gladly agreed to do all in her power to make the man forget his former life and enter into the enjoyment of the present. With their hearts bearing nothing but respect and friendship for Junius Cobb, they left the conservatory, and returned to the ball-room.

The night passed, and it was January 1, 2001.

At breakfast, Hugh told Cobb that he intended to take him to America, as the President had promised that he should be made acquainted with the system of the sympathetic telegraph, and also with the methods pursued in publishing the “Daily American.”

Cobb’s face brightened up, and he expressed his pleasure at the prospect of gaining a knowledge of these wonderful inventions.

Accordingly, at 14 dial the two young men took the Chicago Pneumatic, and reached Pittsburgh at 16:50 dial. Here the Tracer, in which Cobb had crossed the Central Sea in the preceding September, and which had been ordered to report to Captain Craft, was boarded, and Cobb again met Lieutenant Sibley and his assistants.

Putting to sea as soon as the baggage had arrived from the train, the Tracer was headed southwest by west, and quickly made the offing.

At 3:10 dial the next morning the vessel came to anchor in the harbor of America. It was 7 dial before Lieutenant Sibley would awaken his guests, and nearly 9 dial when Mr. Doane, the superintendent of the telegraph system, presented himself, under an order from the Secretary of State to render every service to his visitors.

The city of America lay just a mile from the shores of the Central Sea, upon a nearly level plain about six miles long by three in width. The Kentucky hills in the background, with their magnificent scenery, the great sea in front and the beautiful streets and houses, made the scene appear to Cobb like an enchanted city of the Arabian Nights.

Landing at the dock, an electric drag quickly took the party to the beautiful residence of Mr. Doane.

A few minutes later, after meeting the charming wife of their host, Cobb and Hugh were ushered into the library by Mr. Doane, who again expressed the pleasure which he felt at meeting the man of whom the world had been talking for the past four months.

“I can assure you,” he exclaimed, “we see it here. Thousands of telegrams have passed through the United States—I should say the Central Office—in which your name was the prominent subject.”

“I ought to feel flattered at such world-wide reputation,” returned Cobb, modestly; “but I am tired of it, and wish to be a man born in the period.”

The conversation continued, and the object of Cobb’s visit to the city was fully explained.

Stepping to a book-case, Mr. Doane took a large book from a shelf, and, opening it upon a table, displayed a map of the city of America and its immediate vicinity.

“There is a map of the city, Mr. Cobb,” he said, “and you can follow me as I explain to you the reasons why the city has been so laid out, and in such an extraordinary fashion. America is a city of about 125,000 souls. The plan of the city is very peculiar indeed, but made with the one view of bringing the employÉs of the system into little communities near the place of their occupation. It resembles a portion of a great checkerboard, eight squares long by six in breadth. Each square is a half-mile in length and breadth, and has an area of one-quarter of a square mile. Four of these squares is called a section, making twelve sections, or twelve square miles in the city. Each section is divided into eight triangles of equal shape and area by diagonals from its corners. Thus there are in the city five great streets, each four miles in length, extending from one extreme to the other, or east and west; seven streets two miles in length running north and south, and the diagonal streets. Electric cars run on all the streets except the diagonals. All of these streets are 200 feet wide, and paved with gray glass. Each triangle is cut into streets of 100 feet in width, running north and south for the north and south triangles, and east and west for the others, and contain about 400 houses. Thus there are in each section 3,200 houses for employÉs. Each house occupies an area of fifty feet front by 100 feet in depth. In the center of each section is a beautiful but small park. Four large, grand buildings of six stories each face this park, occupying the apices of the eight triangles.

“These buildings are the workshops, or site of occupation, of the inhabitants of that particular section. Thus a community of 3,200 families live and work in each section. For further benefit to the people, each two triangles of a quadrant is combined under the title of ‘square.’ Each square, therefore, has its own diagonal street, meeting the other diagonals of the section in the center, or place of occupation. Again, as each square is a smaller community of the section, it has its own shops, stores, etc. All of these places of business are located midway on the diagonals, and are styled the ‘bazar.’ There is allowed in each bazar, only one store for each particular trade; for instance, there is but one grocer, baker, market, etc., through the whole list of trades. There are, also, restaurants and club-rooms for men and women, libraries, churches and school-houses located on these streets. So complete is the system that the residents have little need of ever going outside their square to have their wants properly attended to. All of the stores in the city, except the grocers, bakers, and markets, are under control of the authorities; and the articles offered for trade have to be of the best, while the schedule of prices is so regulated that only a certain minimum profit can be made. The excepted trades are directly under the charge of competent officials, and the articles sold at cost. The houses for the operators, on the main streets, are all six-room cottages, while those on the cross-streets contain only five rooms. They are built in various and different designs, and all are provided with heat and light by electricity. They are covered with ornamental slabs of various colored glass, which give them durability against the weather, and exquisite beauty. Each section is under the direct supervision of a governor and two assistants, and all disputes and controversies arising among the people are settled and judged by them. No person is allowed to settle or remain in the city without special authority from the superintendent and council of the system. The cars are free to all people; so, also, is the rent of the houses to the operators, the only requirement being that each occupant shall keep his house in good repair. Every expenditure for the welfare of the city is paid out of the receipts of the system, thus leaving nothing to be demanded of the employÉs save the cost price of their subsistence. You will see from the map, Mr. Cobb, that there are ten sections having their central offices, while the two interior sections of the city, and wherein we now are,” and he placed his finger upon the spot, “have one between them. This central spot, with its parks and great buildings, is called ‘The United States,’ to distinguish it from the other centers of operations; which are named, in order, from left to right, around to point of beginning: ‘Islands,’ ‘Indias,’ ‘Asia,’ ‘Africa,’ ‘East,’ ‘Australia,’ ‘Continent,’ ‘Britain,’ ‘South America,’ and ‘West.’ In each section 2,000 operators move down to the central offices each morning at 8 dial, making 20,000 telegraph operators, besides 2,000 in the central section of the whole system, who daily work the keys that flash the millions of messages over the world. This vast throng of employÉs moves, easily and without impediment, down the cross-streets of their triangles into the diagonals of their squares, and thence to their work. By the system of squares, no employÉ has a greater distance to walk to his work than the length of the hypotenuse of the triangle whose base and altitude is a half-mile in length; or a little less than three quarters of a mile. One-half of the number of operators go to their dinner at 12 dial, and the other half at 13 dial. At 20 dial, they are relieved, and 10,000 others take their place until 8 dial the next morning. Their work is clean and light; but the hours are long, as it is not practicable to have three sets of operators. Now, for the amusement of the city, there are theatres, dancing-halls, clubs, boating and sea-bathing, libraries, gymnasiums, and many other means of recreation. The greater portion of the operators are married, and live happy and contented in their positions. The finer houses, on the main streets, are given to those longest in service, as a reward for their services. The salary of an operator is sixty dollars per month, and promotion is by competition. I may have wearied you, Mr. Cobb, by going into details as I have,” Mr. Doane said, apologetically; “but in order to understand this vast system of communication, with its ramifications extending to every known part of the globe, it is necessary that you should learn how the working force is set in motion and how continued.”

“On the contrary, Mr. Doane, you have not wearied me at all,” replied Cobb. “I can assure you I take special delight in everything tending to better the condition of the working classes. How much better could capital have been employed in my day in building up communities like this, instead of accumulating vast wealth to be fought over by contending heirs.”

“This, Mr. Cobb,” continued Mr. Doane, “is the condition of life and the surroundings of these thousands of men who daily tick the thoughts and wishes of mankind from every part of the known earth. Now, if you are ready, we will take the drag and visit one of the sectional offices, and you can see the actual working of the system.”

It was but a few minutes’ ride from Mr. Doane’s residence to the nearest sectional headquarters, and they were soon entering the beautiful park surrounding the four large buildings which faced toward the center. Cobb noticed the air of order and cleanliness which pervaded everything, and the lack of hubbub which might be expected in the vicinity of four buildings holding 2,000 employÉs.

Ascending by the elevator to the first floor, they were ushered into “The State of New York,” as the floor was designated in the system.

The scene that met the eye of Cobb was unique in the extreme. Row upon row of little tables, at each of which sat an operator, extended from one end of the room to the other. In front of each line of tables an endless belt was carrying little folded papers, and dropping them through a chute in the floor. At one extremity of the room was a number of pipes vomiting forth an unceasing stream of small metal cases, which were quickly seized and deposited in boxes near at hand. A stream of assistants were busy handing these cases to the operators at the tables. A humming sound, low and musical, pervaded the room as the hundred and more instruments clicked forth their messages.

“This is the ‘State of New York,’” explained Mr. Doane. “There are 140 operators in this room, working direct with the central office of the State of New York. Upon the next floor is ‘New England,’ and above that, ‘Pennsylvania,’ and so on, each floor being devoted to the work with the central office of a particular State or States.” Mr. Doane then enlightened Cobb on the work of the system. In each State of the United States, and each nation of the various divisions of the world, was located a central office; these central offices worked direct with some floor of the buildings in the sectional offices. For instance: the section designated “East,” contained the operators who worked with the central offices of the Eastern States. “South America” worked with the central offices of all the countries of South America. From the central office of a State or nation, the message was sent direct to the town or city of destination, if in that State or nation.

“To understand the system,” said Mr. Doane, “let us follow the course of a message from St. Petersburg to San Francisco. The operator at St. Petersburg sends it to the central office of his county by his sympathetic instruments. From that central office it is sent to the section in this city designated ‘Continent;’ there it is received, and sent to ‘The World,’ or central office, by pneumatic tubes. At ‘The World’ it is assorted from the hundreds dropping from the tubes, and sent in a tube to the ‘West’ section. Here it is received, and sent to the floor named ‘California,’ handed to an operator, and transmitted to the central office of California, and by them to the city of San Francisco. The time of transit of such a message of twenty words, from St. Petersburg to San Francisco, is thirty minutes.”

“Quick work, that!” exclaimed Cobb, admiringly.

“But a more peculiar illustration of the system,” continued Mr. Doane, “is exemplified in the sending of a message from Portland, Oregon, to Vancouver, Washington. These cities are but fifteen miles apart; yet the message from the former city is sent to its central office, thence to the ‘West’ section in this city, thence by tube to the next floor, thence to the central office of Washington, and thence to Vancouver. Now I will show you the instruments,” and he motioned them to follow him to the lower end of the room.

Here Cobb for the first time examined the great invention of his old friend and master, Jean Colchis.

On a table were set an ordinary relay, sounder and key, instruments which were familiar to Cobb, who had thoroughly studied the electric telegraph system of his day. The relay only differed from those used in former years in that it had no large and heavy armature in front of its poles, but in its place was a small, bright needle swinging on a vertical pivot. The short end of the needle was held by two delicate springs, pulling in opposite directions. The needle was metallically connected through a local battery to an ordinary sounder, and thence the current was carried to a little stud near the extreme end of the short arm of the needle.

The relay was connected through its keys to another local battery.

If the key was closed—that is, pressed down so as to form a metallic connection—the relay magnets were magnetized by its local battery, and the little needle was drawn toward them by their attraction, until the short arm of the needle rested against the little stud. This touching of the needle to the stud closed the circuit of the second local battery, and the sounder armature answered to the influence. If the key was opened, the circuit was broken, the needle was drawn back by its little spring and the local current of the sounder disrupted. With the exception of the needle, the whole apparatus was precisely similar to that employed in telegraphing in 1887.

Cobb examined it carefully and noted its delicacy and the care exercised in its protection from external forces by being covered with a glass globe and surrounded by helices in opposite directions.

Mr. Doane watched his expression, and smiled at his perplexity.

“Simple, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes, in construction,” returned Cobb; “but its theory of action upon the distant instrument is to me a total mystery, I must confess.”

“But easily explained, in so far as how it acts, but not why it performs its work,” Mr. Doane answered. “The needle which you see has a mate, and that mate is in the California office. These needles are made in pairs, and, by a wonderful process, made sympathetic. No two pairs are charged with the same sympathy; consequently, no other needle of the whole system of instruments will affect this save that single one in California. The instruments of each pair are most carefully set up at their different stations, so that the needles shall point to the true north; thus the needles are exactly parallel to each other. When the instrument is not in use, the key is left open, and the needle is held back by its spring. Now, if the California operator should close his key, he would cause his needle to be attracted toward the relay magnets; this movement of his needle exerts a sympathetic influence upon the needle in this instrument. It endeavors to parallel itself to its mate. It moves to the right, overcoming the power of its spring, and, touching the stud, closes the circuit, and the sounder records the fact. Opening his key in California, both needles move back by the tension of their springs, and the sounders are demagnetized. The sympathy of these two needles to place themselves in a parallel position, or, more properly, the repulsion of the poles of each from those of the other, is the secret of the sympathetic telegraph system.”

“A wonderful, grand invention!” burst from the lips of Cobb, as he comprehended the almost human action of the two needles. “How could mortal man have discovered such a secret of nature!”

“Yes, Junius; it is wonderful!” echoed Hugh.

“How many pairs of these sagacious little instruments have you in the system?” asked Cobb, after a silence.

“In the United States, 280,000; in the world, 450,000. But more are needed very much, and have been for years,” returned Mr. Doane.

“Well, why don’t you make them?” inquiringly.

“Ah! there’s where the trouble is! Since 1963 no instruments have been made. The secret is lost!”

“Lost! The secret is lost! How could it be possible to lose the secret of such a discovery as this?” and a look of incredulity expressed the doubts he entertained.

“It is a fact, nevertheless, Mr. Cobb; a fact coupled with sorrow to me in many ways. But let us take the drag and return to the house, as it is near luncheon; I will tell you of the accident as we ride along.” A shade of sorrow came over his face as he spoke.

As the drag sped along the grand avenue toward the beautiful home of the superintendent, Cobb listened to the old man’s story concerning the loss of the secret of Jean Colchis’ great invention.

“My grandfather,” commenced Mr. Doane, “was the first superintendent of the sympathetic telegraph system. In 1892, when the wonderful discovery of Jean Colchis, of whom you no doubt have heard—”

“And with whom he was on terms of the closest friendship,” broke in Hugh, in a matter-of-fact sort of way.

“Knew Jean Colchis! personally knew the inventor of the system I have been explaining to you!” cried Mr. Doane, in astonishment.

“Yes,” from Cobb.

“Ah, yes! I had forgotten your status in this life. You have lived a hundred years; why may you not have known him?” murmured the old man, as if reasoning with some doubt in his mind as to Cobb’s sincerity of expression. “You must tell me of him,” with an eager look; “for I reverence the name of him who conceived this wonderful agent of communication, and placed its power subject to the will of man. To-night, to-night, Mr. Cobb, you must tell me of yourself and of him.”

“With pleasure, Mr. Doane,” returned Cobb.

“Be it so. And now I will go on with my story,” continued the superintendent. “As I was saying, in 1892, when Jean Colchis made his discovery, the government bought the invention from him, and selected my grandfather, who was a Major in the army, to be the superintendent of the system. I do not know what were the terms of sale, or what were the conditions imposed, excepting that only one man was to know the secret of sympathizing the needles; that that man was never to commit the secret to writing or to tell it to any living soul until at death’s door; then it was to be transmitted to only one other, verbally. It is believed that this great stipulation on the part of Jean Colchis was to prevent France from reaping any benefit from his discovery, as he was said to have been an exile from that country.”

Cobb smiled as he uttered the latter words, for the political secrets of Colchis were fresh in his memory.

“For thirty-seven years my grandfather sympathized, in his laboratory, all the needles used in the system. Upon his death-bed, in 1929, at the ripe age of eighty-five, he communicated the secret to his son, who was his assistant in the system. The government made my father superintendent to succeed my grandfather. I was born in 1937, and at twenty years of age became my father’s assistant. It was his intention to leave the secret with me; but, from a stroke of paralysis preventing speech and motion, he died on the 6th of September, 1963, and the secret died with him. On account of my knowledge of the system I was, upon the death of my father, immediately appointed superintendent, and have occupied the position ever since.”

“And has no effort been made to rediscover this secret?” asked Cobb.

“Oh, yes. Scientists throughout the world have worked assiduously, but without success. The government has standing rewards of five millions of dollars for the lost secret.”

They had reached the house, and the drag stopped at the door.