 Solander's Radio Tomb. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recorded by Carter Abel. Solander's Radio Tomb by Ellis Parker Butler. I had first met Mr. Remington Solander shortly after I installed my first radio set. I was going into New York on the 8.15 a.m. train and was sitting with my friend, Murchison. As a matter of course, we were talking radio. I had just told Murchison that he was a long-headed noodle and that for two cents I would poke him in the jaw and that even a pin-headed idiot ought to know that a tube set was better than a crystal set. To this Murchison replied that that had settled it. He had always known that I was a moron and now he was sure of it. If you had enough brains to fill a hazelnut shell, he said, you wouldn't talk that way. Anybody but a half-baked lunatic would know what a man wants in radio is clear, sharp reception and that's what a crystal gives you. You're one of these half wits who think they're classy if they can hear some two-cent station 500 miles away utter a few faint squeaks. Shut up. I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to listen to you. Go and sit somewhere else. Of course, this was what was to be expected of Murchison and if I did let out a few lapses of anger, I feel I was entirely justified. Radio fans are always disputing the relative merits of crystal and tube sets, but I knew I was right. I was just trying to decide whether to choke Murchison with my bare hand and throw his lifeless body out the car window or tell him a few things I'd been wanting to say ever since he'd been knocking my tube set when this Remington Solinger, who was sitting behind us, leaned forward and tapped me on the shoulder. I turned quickly and saw his long, sheep-like face close to mine. He was chewing cardamom seed and breathing the odor into my face. My friend, he said, come back and sit with me. I want to ask you a few questions about radio. Well, I couldn't resist that, could I? No radio fan could. I did not care much for the looks of this Remington Solinger man, but for a few weeks my friends had seemed to be steering away from me when I drew near and although I'm sure I never said anything to bore them. All I ever talked about was my radio set and some new hookups I was trying, but I had noticed that men who had formally seemed fond of my company now gave startled looks when I neared them. Some even climbed over the nearest fence and ran madly across vacant lots, looking over their shoulders with light, frightened glances as they ran. For a week I had not been able to get a man of my acquaintance to listen to one word for me, except Merjison, and he's another idiot, as I think I have made clear. So I left Merjison and sat with Remington Solinger. In one way I was proud to be invited to sit with Remington Solinger because he was far and away the richest man in our town. When he died his estate proved to amount to three million dollars. I'd seen him often and knew who he was, but he was a standoffish old fellow and did not mix, so I'd never met him. He was a tall man and thin, somewhat flabby, and he was pale in an unhealthy sort of way, but after all he was a millionaire and a member of one of the old families of Westcote. So I took the seat alongside of him with considerable satisfaction. I gathered, he said, as soon as I was seated, that you are interested in radio. I told him I was, and I'm just building a new radio set, using a new hookup that I've heard of a week ago, I said. I think it's going to be a wonder. Now, here's the idea, instead of using a grid. Yes, yes, the old aristocrat said hastily, but never you mind that now. I know very little of such things. I have an electrician employed by the year to care for my radio set, and I leave such things to him. You're not a lawyer, are you not? I told him that I was. And you are chairman of the trustees of the Westcote Cemetery, are you not? He asked. I told him I was that also, and I might say that the Westcote Cemetery Association is one of the rightest and tightest little corporations in existence. It has been in existence since 1808, and has been exceedingly profitable to those fortunate enough to hold its stock. I inherited the small block from my grandfather. Recently, we trustees had bought 60 additional acres adjoining the old cemetery, and had added them to it. And we were about to ready to put new lots on the market. At 300 apiece, they promised to be a tremendous profit in the thing, for our cemetery was a fashionable place to be buried, and the demand for lots in the new addition promised to be enormous. You have not known it, said Remington Solander, in his slow drawl, which had the effect of letting his words slide out of his mouth and drip down his long chin like cold molasses. But I have been making inquiries about you, and I have been meaning to speak to you. I am drawing up a new last will and testament, and want you to draw up one of its clauses for me, without delay. I certainly, Mr. Solander, I said with increased pride, I'll be glad to be of service to you. I am choosing you for the work, Remington Solander said, because you know and love radio as I do, and because you are a trustee of the Cemetery Association. Are you a religious man? Well, I said a little uneasily. Some, some but not much. No matter, said Mr. Solander, placing a hand on my arm. I am, and have always been, from my very earliest youth, my mind has been on serious things. As a matter of fact, sir, I have compiled a manuscript collection of religious quotations, hymns, sermons, and uplifting thoughts, which now fill fourteen volumes, all in my own handwriting. Originally, I inherited some money, and this collection is my gift to the world. And a noble one, I'm sure, I said. Most noble, said Mr. Solander. But sir, I haven't confined my activities to the study chair. I have kept my eyes on the progress of the world, and it seems to me that radio, this new and wonderful invention, is the greatest discovery of all ages and imperishable. But, sir, it is being twisted to cheap uses. Jazz, cheap songs, worldly words and music. That, I mean, to remedy. Well, I said, it might be done. Of course, people like what they like. Some nobler souls like better things, said Remington Solander solemnly. Some more worthy men and women will welcome nobler radio broadcasting. In my will, I am putting aside one million dollars to establish and maintain a broadcasting station that will broadcast only my fourteen volumes of hymns and uplifting material. Every day this matter will go forth, sermons, lectures on prohibition, noble thoughts and religious poems. I assured him that some people might be glad to get that, and that a lot of people might, in fact, and that I could write that into his will without any trouble at all. Ah, said Remington Solander. That is already in my will. What I want you to write for my will is another clause. I mean to build, in your cemetery, a high-class and imperishable grammatune for myself, and I mean to place it on that knoll, that high knoll, the highest spot on your cemetery. What I want you to write into my will is a clause providing for the perpetual care and maintenance of my tomb. I want to set aside five hundred thousand dollars for that purpose. Well, I said to the sheep-faced millionaire, I can do that too. Yes, he agreed. And I want to give to my family and relations the remaining million and a half dollars provided, he said, accenting the provided. They carry out, faithfully, the provisions of the clause providing for the perpetual care and maintenance of my tomb. If they don't care and maintain, he said, giving me a hard look, that million and a half dollars is to go to the home for flea-bitten dogs. They'll care and maintain, all right, I laughed. I think so, Remington Solander said gravely. I do think so indeed. And now, sir, we come to the important part. You, as I know, are the trustee of the cemetery. Yes, I said, I am. For drawing this clause of my will, if you can draw it, said Remington Solander, looking me full in the eye with both of his own, which will light the eyes of a salt mackerel, I shall pay you five thousand dollars. Well, I almost gasped. It was a big lot of money for drawing one clause of a will, and I began to smell a rat right there. But, I may say, the proposition Remington Solander made to me was one I was able to, quite a talk with my fellow trustees of the cemetery, I was able to carry out. What Remington Solander wanted was to be permitted to put a radio loud-speaking outfit in his granite tomb, a radio loud-speaking outfit permanently set at 327 meters wavelength, which was to be the wavelength of his endowed broadcasting station. I don't know how Remington Solander got his first remarkable idea, but just about that time, an undertaker in New York had rigged up a hearse with a phonograph so that the hearse would loud-speak suitable hymns on the way to the cemetery, and that may have suggested the loud-speaking tomb to Remington Solander, but it's not important where he got the idea. He had it, and he was set on having it carried out. Thank, he said, of the uplifting effect of it. On the highest spot in the cemetery will stay on my noble tomb, loud-speaking in all directions of the music I have collected in my 14 volumes. All who enter the cemetery will hear. All will be ennobled and uplifted. That was so too. I saw that at once. I said so. So Remington Solander went on to explain that the income from the $500,000 would be set aside to keep A batteries and B batteries supplied to keep the outfit and repair and so on. So I tackled the job rather enthusiastically. I don't say that the $5,000 fee didn't interest me, but I did think Remington Solander had a grand idea. It would make our cemetery stand out. People would come from everywhere to see and listen. The lots in the new edition would sell like hotcakes. But I did have a little trouble with the other trustees. They balked when I explained that Remington Solander wanted the sole radio loud-speaking rights of our cemetery, but someone finally suggested that if Remington Solander put up a new and artistic iron fence around the whole cemetery, it might be alright. They made him submit his 14 volumes so that they could see what sort of matter he met to broadcast from his high-class station, and they agreed that it was solemn enough. It was all solemn and sad and gloomy, just the stuff for a cemetery. So when Remington Solander agreed to build the new iron fence, they made a formal contract with him and I drew up the clause for the will, and he bought six lots on the top of the high-knoll, and began erecting his marble mausoleum. For eight months or so, Remington Solander was busier than he had ever been in his life. He superintended the building of the tomb, and he had on hand the job of getting his endowed radio station going. It was given the letters WZZZ and hiring artists to sing and play and speechify his 14 volumes of glue and uplift 327 meters, and it was too much for the old cauldron. The very night of the test of the WZZZ outfit was made, he passed away and was no more on earth. This funeral was one of the biggest we've ever had on Westcote. I should judge that 5,000 people attended his remains to the cemetery, for it had become widely known that the first WZZZ program would be received and loud spoken from Remington Solander's tomb that afternoon. The first selection of the program was his favorite hymn, beginning as the funeral cortege left the church and the program continuing until dark. I'll say, it was one of the most affecting occasions I'd ever witnessed. As the body was being carried into the tomb, the loudspeaker gave us a sermon by Reverend Peter L. Ruggis, full of sob stuff, and one of the 5,000 present wept. And when the funeral was really finished, over 2,000 remained to hear the rest of the program, which consisted of hymns, missionary reports, static and recitations of religious poems. We increased the price of the lots in the new edition, $100 per lot immediately, and we sold four lots that afternoon until the next morning. The big metropolitan newspapers all gave the Westcote cemetery huge illustrated articles the next Sunday, and we received, during the next week, over 300 letters, mostly from ministers praising what we had done. But that was not the best of it. Request for lots had come in by mail. Not only people in Westcote wrote for prices, but people over in New Jersey and up in Westchester County and even as far as Poughkeepsie and Delaware. We had twice as many requests for lots as there were lots to sell, and we decided that we would have an auction for the Spitters. You see, Remington Solander's Talking Tomb was becoming nationally famous. We began to negotiate with the owners of six farms adjacent to our cemetery. We figured on buying them and making more new additions to the cemetery, and then we found out we couldn't use three of the farms. The reason was that the loudspeaker in Remington Solander's Tomb would not carry that far. It was not strong enough. So we went against another snag. Nothing in the radio outfit in the tomb could be altered in any way, whatever. That was in the will. The same loudspeaker had to be maintained and the same wavelength had to be kept. And the same makes of batteries had to be used. The same style of tubes had to be used. Remington Solander had thought of it all. So we decided to let well enough alone. It was all we could do anyway. We bought the farms that were reached by the loudspeaker and had them surveyed the plots. And then the thing happened. Yes, sir. I'll sell my cemetery stock for two cents on the dollar if anybody will bid that much for it. For what do you think happened? Along came the government of the United States regulating this radio thing and assigning new wavelengths to all broadcasting stations. It gave Remington Solander's broadcasting station WZZZ an 855 meter wavelength. And it gave that station the Doddwood station PKX the 327 meter wavelength. And the next day poor old Remington Solander's tomb poured forth. Yes, we ain't got no bananas in the hot dog jazz. And if you can't see mama every night you can't see mama at all. And hinked tubs in all his funny stories like, well, one day an Irishman in the Swede were walking down Broadway and they see a flapper coming towards them. And she had on one of them short skirts and she said, So Mike, he says, I see a peach. So the Swede, he says, maybe you'd buy and see a peach, Mike, but I see one mighty nice pear. But the other day I went to see my mother-in-law. You know the story program. I don't say that the people who like them are not entitled to them, but I do say that they're not the sort of programs to speak from a loudspeaker from a team of a cemetery. And I think that's the exact old Remington Solander turned clear over in his tomb when those programs began to come through. I know our Board of Trustees went right up in the air, but there was not a thing we could do about it. The newspapers gave us double pages the next Sunday. Remington Solander's jazz tomb and Westcote's two-step cemetery. And within a week the inmates of our cemetery began to move out. Friends of people who had been buried over a hundred years came and moved them to other cemeteries and took the headstones and monuments with them. And in a month our cemetery looked like one of those Great War battlefields like a lot of shell holes. Not a man, woman, or child was left in the place, except Remington Solander in his granite tomb on type of a high knoll. What we've got on our hands is a deserted cemetery. They all blame me, but I can't do anything about it. All I can do is groan. Every morning I grab the paper and look for the PKX program. I groan. Remington Solander is a lucky man. He's dead. End of Solander's Radio Tomb by Ellis Parker Butler. Read by Carter Abel. Star Mother This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Jan Morrison. Star Mother by Robert F. Young A touching story of the most endearing love in all eternity. That night her son was the first star. She stood motionless in the garden. One hand pressed against her heart watching him rise above the fields where he had played as a boy. Where he had worked as a young man. And she wondered whether he was thinking of those fields now. Whether he was thinking of her standing alone in the April night with her memories. Whether he was thinking of the verandah house behind her with its empty rooms in silent halls that once upon a time had been his birthplace. Higher still and higher he rose in the southern sky. And then when he had reached his zenith he dropped swiftly down past the dark edge of the earth and disappeared from sight. A boy grown up too soon riding round and round the world on a celestial carousel encased in an airtight metal capsule in an airtight metal chariot. Why don't they leave the stars alone? She thought. Why don't they leave the stars to God? The General's second telegram came early the next morning. Explorer 12 doings splendidly. Expect to bring your son down sometime tomorrow. She went about her work as usual collecting the eggs and allocating them in their cardboard then setting off in the station wagon on her Tuesday morning run. She had expected a deluge of questions from her customers. She was not disappointed. Is Terry really way up there all alone Martha? Aren't you scared Martha? I do hope they can get him back down all right Martha. She supposed it must have given them quite a turn to have their egg woman change into a star mother overnight. She hadn't expected the TV interview though and she would have avoided it if it had been politely possible. But what could she do when the line of cars and trucks pulled into the drive and the technicians got out and started setting up their equipment in the backyard? What could she say when the slob young man came up to her and said we want you to know that we're all very proud of your boy up there and I request the honor of answering a few questions. Most of the questions concerned Terry as was fitting. From the way the slob young man asked them though she got the impression that he was trying to prove that her son was just like any other average American boy and such just didn't happen to be the case. But whenever she opened her mouth to mention say how he or how difficult it had been for him to make friends because of his shyness or the fact that he had never gone out for football whenever she started to mention any of these things the slob young man was in great haste to interrupt her and to twist her words by re-questioning into a different meaning altogether till Terry's behavior pattern seemed to coincide with the behavior pattern which the slob young man partly considered the norm but which if followed Martha was sure would produce not young men bent on exploring space but young men bent on exploring trivia. A few of the questions concerned herself. Was Terry her only child? Yes. What had happened to her husband? He was killed in the Korean War. What did she think of the new law granting star mothers top priority any and all information relating to their sons? I think it's a fine law. It's too bad they couldn't have shown similar humanity toward the war mothers of World War II. It was late in the afternoon by the time the TV crew got everything repacked into their cars and trucks and made their departure. Martha fixed herself a light supper then donned an old suede jacket of Terry's and went out into the garden to wait for the sun to go down. According to the timetable the general had outlined in his first telegram Terry's first Tuesday night passage wasn't due to occur until 9.05 but it seemed only right that she should be outside when the stars started to come out. Presently they did and she watched them wink on one by one in the deepening darkness of the sky. She'd never been much of a one for the stars most of her life she'd been much too busy on earth to bother with things celestial. She could remember when she was much younger and Bill was courting her looking up at the moon sometimes and once in a while when a star fell making a wish but this was different. It was different because now she had a personal interest in the sky a new affinity with its myriad inhabitants and how bright they became when you kept looking at them. They seemed to come alive almost pulsing brilliantly down out of the blackness of the night and there were different colors too she noticed with the start some of them were blue and some were red others were yellow green orange. It grew cold in the April garden and she could see her breath there was a strange crispness a strange clarity about the night that she had never known before she glanced at her watch was astonished to see that the hands indicated two minutes after nine. Where had the time gone? Tremulously she faced the southern horizon and saw her Terry appear in his shining chariot riding up the star-pebbled path of his orbit a star in his own right dropping swiftly now down and out of sight beyond the dark wheeling mass of the earth she took a deep proud breath realized that she was wildly waving her hand and let it fall slowly to her side make a wish she thought like a little girl and she wished him pleasant dreams and a safe return and wrapped the wish in all her love and cast it starward sometime tomorrow the general's telegram had said that meant sometime today she rose with the sun and fed the chickens fixed and ate her breakfast collected the eggs and put them in their cardboard boxes then started out on her Wednesday morning run my land Martha I don't see how you stand it with him way up there doesn't it get on your nerves yes yes it does Martha when are they bringing him back down today today it must be wonderful being a star mother Martha yes it is in a way wonderful and terrible if only he can last it out for a few more hours she thought if only they can bring him down safe and sound then the vigil will be over and some other mother can take over the awesome ability of having a son become a star if only the general's third telegram arrived that afternoon regret to inform you that meteorite impact on satellite hull severely damaged capsule detachment mechanism making ejection impossible will make every effort to find another means of accomplishing your son's return Terry see the little boy playing beneath the maple tree moving his tiny cars up and down the tiny streets of his make believe village the little boy his fuzz of hair gold in the sunlight his cherub cheeks pink in the summer wind Terry up the lane the blue denimed young man walks swinging his thin tanned arms his long legs making near grown up strides over the sun seared grass the sky blue and bright behind him the song of cicada rising and falling in the hazy September air Terry probably won't get a chance to write you again before take off but don't worry ma the explorer 12 is the greatest bird they ever built nothing short of a direct meteorite hit can hurt it and the odds are a million to one why don't they leave the stars alone why don't they leave the stars to God the afternoon shadows lengthened on the lawn and the sun grew red and swollen over the western hills Martha fixed supper tried to eat and couldn't after a while when the light began to fade she slipped into Terry's jacket and went outside slowly the sky darkened and the stars began to appear at length her star appeared but its swift passage blurred before her eyes tires crunched on the gravel then and headlights washed the darkness from the drive a car door slammed Martha did not move please God she thought let it be Terry even though she knew that it couldn't possibly be Terry footsteps sounded behind her paused someone coughed softly she turned then good evening ma'am she saw the circlet of stars on the gray epaulet she saw the stern handsome face she saw the dark tired eyes and she knew even before he spoke again she knew the same meteorite that damaged the ejection mechanism ma'am it penetrated the capsule too we didn't find out till just a while ago but there was nothing we could have done anyway are you alright ma'am yes I'm alright I wanted to express my regrets personally I know how you must feel it's alright we will of course make every effort to bring back his remains so that he can have a fitting burial on earth no she said I beg your pardon ma'am she raised her eyes to the patch of sky where her son had passed in his shining metal sarcophagus serious blossom there blue white and beautiful she raised her eyes still higher and beheld the vast partera of Orion with its central motif of vivid forget-me-nots its far-flung blooms of Betelgeuse and Rigel of Bellatrix and Saif and higher yet and there flamed the exquisite flower beds of Taurus and Gemini there burgeoned the riotous wealth of the crab the pulsing petals of the Pleiades and down the elliptic garden path wafted by a stellar breeze drifted the ochre rose of Mars no she said again the general had raised his eyes too now slowly he lowered them I think I understand ma'am and I'm glad that's the way you want it stars are beautiful tonight aren't they more beautiful than they've ever been she said after the general had gone she looked up once more at the vast and variegated garden of the sky where her son lay buried then she turned and walked slowly back to the memoryed house the end of Star Mother by Robert F. Young the story of the late Mr. Elvisham by H. G. Wells this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by James Christopher the story of the late Mr. Elvisham by H. G. Wells I set this story down not expecting it will be believed but if possible to prepare a way of escape for the next victim he perhaps may profit by my misfortune my own case I know is hopeless and I am now in some measure prepared to meet my fate my name is Edward George Eden I was born in Trenham in Staffordshire my father being employed in the gardens there I lost my mother when I was three years old and my father when I was five my uncle George Eden then adopting me as his own son he was a single man self-educated and well known in Birmingham as an enterprising journalist he educated me generously fired my ambition to succeed in the world and at his death which happened four years ago left me his entire fortune a matter of about five hundred pounds after all outgoing charges were paid I was then eighteen he advised me in his will to expend the money in completing my education I had already chosen the profession of medicine and through his posthumous generosity and my good fortune in a scholarship competition I became a medical student at University College London at the time of the beginning of my story I lodged at 11A University Street in a little upper room very shabbily furnished and drafty overlooking the back of Shulby's premises I used this little room both to live in and sleep in because I was anxious to eke out my means to the very last Shillingsworth I was taking a pair of shoes to be mended and I was proud of them Court Road when I first encountered a little old man with the yellow face with whom my life has now become so inextricably entangled he was standing on the curb and staring at the number on the door in a doubtful way as I opened it his eyes, they were dull gray eyes and reddish under the rims fell to my face and his countenance immediately assumed an expression of corrugated amiability you come, he said, at to the moment Mr. Eden I was a little astonished at his familiar address for I had never said eyes on the man before I was a little annoyed too at his catching me with my boots under my arm he noticed my lack of cordiality wonder who the deuce I am, eh a friend, let me assure you I have seen you before though you haven't seen me is there anywhere where I can talk to you I hesitated the shabbiness of my room upstairs was not a matter for every stranger but I, we might walk down the street I am unfortunately prevented my gesture explained the sentence before I had spoken it the very thing he said, and faced this way and then that, the street which way shall we go I slipped my boots down in the passage look here, he said abruptly this business of mine is rigmarole come and lunch with me Mr. Eden I am an old man, a very old man and not good at explanations and what with my piping voice I was not aware of the traffic he laid a persuasive skinny hand that trembled a little upon my arm I was not so old that an old man might not treat me to lunch yet at the same time I was not altogether pleased by this abrupt invasion I had rather, I began but I had rather, he said, catching me up and a certain civility is surely due to my gray hairs and so I consented and went with him he took me to Blavitsky's I had to walk slowly to accommodate and over such a lunch as I had never tasted before and fended off my leading question and I took a better note of his appearance his clean shaven face was lean and wrinkled his shriveled lips fell over a set of false teeth and his white hair was thin and rather long he seemed small to me though indeed, most people seemed small to me and his shoulders were rounded and bent and watching him I could not help but observe that he too was taking note of me with a curious touch of greeting them over me from my broad shoulders to my suntan hands and up to my freckled face again and now said he as we let our cigarettes I must tell you of the business in hand I must tell you then that I am an old man, a very old man he paused momentarily and it happens that I have money that I must presently be leaving and never a child have I to leave it to I thought of the confidence trick and resolved I would be on the alert for the vestiges of my five hundred pounds he proceeded to enlarge on his loneliness and the trouble he had to find the proper disposition of his money I have weighed this plan and that plan charities, institutions and scholarships and libraries and I have come to this conclusion at last he fixed his eyes on my face that I will find some young fellow ambitious, pure-minded and poor, healthy in body and healthy in mind and in short, make him my heir for all that I have he repeated so that he will suddenly be lifted out of all the trouble and struggle in which his sympathies have been educated to freedom and influence I tried to seem disinterested with a transparent hypocrisy I said and you want my help my professional services maybe to find that person he smiled and looked at me over his cigarette and I laughed at his quiet exposure of my modest pretense what a career such a man might have he said it fills me with envy to think how I have accumulated that another man may spend but there are conditions of course burdens to be imposed he must, for instance, take my name you cannot expect everything without some return and I must go into all the circumstances of his life before I can accept him he must be sound I must know his heredity how his parents and grandparents died have the strictest inquiries to his private morals this modified my secret congratulations a little and do I understand, said I, that I yes, he said almost fiercely you you I answered never a word my imagination was dancing wildly my innate skepticism was useless to modify its transports there was not a particle of gratitude in my mind I did not know what to say nor how to say it and me, in particular, I said at last he had chance to hear of me from Professor Hasler, he said as a typically sound and sane young man and he wished, as far as possible to leave his money where health and integrity were assured that was my first meeting with the little old man he was mysterious about himself he would not give his name yet, he said and after I answered some questions of his he left me at the Blavitsky portal I noticed that he drew a handful of gold coins in his pocket when it came to paying for the lunch his insistence upon bodily health was curious in accordance with an arrangement we had made I applied that day for a life policy in the Loyal Insurance Company for a large sum and I was exhaustively overhauled by the medical advisors of that company in the subsequent week even that did not satisfy him and he insisted I must be reexamined by the great Dr. Henderson it was Friday in Whitsun week before he came to a decision quite late in the evening nearly nine it was from cramming chemical equations for my preliminary scientific examination he was standing in the passage under the feeble gas lamp and his face was a grotesque interplay of shadows he seemed more bowed than when I had first seen him and his cheeks had sunk a little his voice shook with emotion everything is satisfactory, Mr. Eden, he said everything is quite, quite satisfactory in this night of all nights you must dine with me and celebrate your ascension he was interrupted by a cough you won't have to wait long either he said, wiping his handkerchief across his lips and gripping my hand with his long bony claw that was disengaged certainly not very long to wait we went into the street and called a cab I remember every incident of that drive vividly the swift easy motion the vivid contrast of gas and oil and electric light the crowds of people in the streets to which we went and the sumptuous dinner we were served with there I was disconcerted at first by the well-dressed waiter's glances at my rough clothes bothered by the stones of the olives but as the champagne warmed my blood my confidence revived at first the old man talked to himself he had already told me his name in the cab he was Egbert Elvisham the great philosopher whose name I had known since I was a lad at school it seemed incredible to me that this man whose intelligence had so early dominated mine this great abstraction should suddenly realize itself as this decrepit familiar figure I dare say every young fellow who has suddenly fallen among celebrities has felt something of my disappointment he told me now of the future that the feeble streams of his life would presently lead dry for me houses, copyrights, investments I had never suspected that philosophers were so rich he watched me drink and eat with a touch of envy a capacity for living you have he said and then with a sigh a sigh of relief I could have thought it it will not be long I said I my head swimming now with the champagne I have a future perhaps of a passing agreeable sort thanks to you I shall now have the honor of your name but you have a past such a past is worth all my future he shook his head and smiled as I thought with a half sad appreciation of my flattering admiration that future he said would you in truth change it the waiter came with the course you will not perhaps mind taking my name taking my position but would you indeed willingly take my years with your achievements said I gallantly he smiled again cumel both he said to the waiter and turned his attention to a little paper packet he had taken from his pocket this hour said he this after dinner hour is the hour of small things here is a scrap of my unpublished wisdom he opened the packet with his shaking yellow fingers and showed a little pinkish powder on the paper this said he well you must guess what it is but cumel put but a dash of this powder in it is Heimel his large grayish eyes watch mine with an inscrutable expression it was a bit of a shock to me to find this great teacher gave his mind to the flavor of liqueurs however I feigned an interest in his weakness for I was drunk enough for such small sycophancy he parted the powder between the little glasses and rising suddenly with a strange unexpected dignity held out his hand towards me I imitated his action and the glasses rang to a quick succession said he and raised his glass towards his lips not that I said hastily not that he paused with a liqueur at the level of his chin and his eyes blazing into mine to a long life said I he hesitated to a long life said he with a sudden bark of laughter and with eyes fixed on one another we tilted the little glasses his eyes looked straight into mine and as I drained the stuff off I felt a curious intense sensation the first touch of it set my brain in a furious tumult I seemed to feel an actual physical stirring in my skull and a seething humming filled my ears I did not notice the flavor in my mouth the aroma that filled my throat I saw only the gray intensity of his gaze that burnt into mine the draft, the mental confusion the noise and stirring in my head seemed to last an interminable time curious vague impressions of half forgotten things danced and vanished on the edge of my consciousness at last he broke the spell with a sudden explosive sigh he put down his glass well he said this glorious said I though I had not tasted the stuff my head was spinning I sat down my brain was in chaos then my perception grew clear and minute as though I saw things in a concave mirror his manner seemed to have changed into something nervous and hasty he pulled out his watch and grimaced at it eleven seven and tonight I must seven twenty five waterloo I must go at once he called for the bill and struggled with his coat the vicious waiters came to our assistance in another moment I was wishing him good-bye over the apron of a cab and still with an absurd feeling of minute distinctness as though how can I express it I not only saw but felt through an inverted upper glass that stuff he said putting his hand to his forehead I ought not to have given it to you it will make your head split tomorrow wait a minute here he handed me out a little flat thing take that in water as you were going to bed the other thing was a drug not till you're ready to go to bed mind it will clear your head that's all one more shake futurus I gripped his shriveled claw good-bye he said and by the droop of his eyelids I judged he too was a little under the influence of that brain twisting cordial he recollected something else with a start felt in his breast pocket and produced another packet this time a cylinder the size and shape of a shaving stick here said he I'd almost forgotten don't open this until I come tomorrow but take it now it was so heavy that I well nigh dropped it all right said I and he grinned at me through the cab window as the cabin flicked his horse into wakefulness it was a white packet he had given me with red seals at either end and along its edge if this isn't money said I it's platinum or lead I stuck it with elaborate care into my pocket and with a whirling brain walked home through the regent street lauders dark back streets beyond Portland road I remember the sensations of that walk very vividly strange as they were I was still so far myself that I could notice my strange mental state and wonder whether the stuff I had had was opium a drug beyond my experience it is hard now to describe the peculiarity of my mental strangeness mental doubling vaguely expresses it as I was walking up regent street I found in my mind a queer persuasion that it was Waterloo Station and I had an odd impulse to get into the polytechnic as a man might get into a train I put a knuckle in my eye and it was regent street how can I express it you see a skillful actor looking quietly at you he pulls a grimace and lo another person is it too extravagant if I tell you that it seemed to me as if regent street had for the moment done that then being persuaded it was regent street again I was oddly muddled about some fantastic remnant instances that cropped up 30 years ago thought I it was here that I quarreled with my brother then I burst out laughing to the astonishment and encouragement of a group of night prowlers 30 years ago I did not exist and never in my life have I boasted a brother the stuff was surely liquid folly for the poignant regret for that lost brother still clung to me along Portland Road the madness took another turn I began to recall vanished shops and to compare the street to what it used to be confused trouble thinking is comprehensible enough after the drink I had taken but what puzzled me were these curiously vivid phantasm memories that had crept into my mind and not only the memories that had crept in but also the memories that had slipped out I stopped opposite Stevens the natural history dealers and cogled my brains to think what he had to do with me a bus went by and sounded exactly like the rumbling of a train I seemed to be dipping into some dark remote pit for recollection of course said I at last he has promised me three frogs tomorrow odd I should have forgotten do they still show children dissolving views in those I remember one view would begin like a faint ghost and grow an oust another in just that way it seemed to me that a ghostly set of new sensations was struggling with those of my ordinary self I went on through Euston Road to Toddham Court Road puzzled and a little frightened and scarcely noticed the unusual way I was taking for commonly I used to cut through the intervening network of back streets I turned into University Street to discover that I'd forgotten my number only by a strong effort did I recall 11A and even then it seemed to me that it was a thing some forgotten person had told me I tried to steady my mind by recalling the incidents of the dinner and for the life of me I could conjure up no picture of my host's face I saw him only as a shadowy outline as one might see oneself reflected in a window through which one was looking in his place however I had a curious exterior vision of myself sitting at a table flushed, bright-eyed and talkative I must take this other powder said I this is getting impossible I tried the wrong side of the hall for my candle and the matches and had a doubt of which landing my room might be on I'm drunk I said that's certain and blundered needlessly on the staircase to sustain the proposition at the first glance my room seemed unfamiliar what rot I said and stared about me I seemed to bring myself back by the effort and the odd phantasmal quality passed into the concrete familiar there was the old glass still with my notes on the albumen stuck in the corner of the frame my old everyday suit of clothes pitched about the floor and yet it was not so real after all I felt an idiotic persuasion trying to creep into my mind as it were that I was in a railway carriage in a train stopping that I was peering out of the window at some unknown station I gripped the bed rail firmly to reassure myself it's clairvoyance perhaps I said I must write to the Psychical Research Society I put the rollu on my dressing table sat on my bed and began to take off my boots it was as if a picture of my present sensation was painted over some other picture that was trying to show through curset said I my wits are going half undressed I tossed the powder into a glass and drank it off it effervesced and became a fluorescent amber color before I was in bed my mind was already tranquilized I felt the pillow at my cheek and there upon I must have fallen asleep I awoke abruptly out of a dream of strange beasts and found myself lying on my back probably everyone knows that a dismal emotional dream from which one escapes awake indeed but strangely cowed there was a curious taste in my mouth a tired feeling in my limbs a sense of cutaneous discomfort I lay with my head motionless on my pillow expecting that my feelings of strangest and terror would pass away and then I should then doze off to sleep again but instead of that my uncanny sensations increased at first I could perceive nothing wrong about me there was a faint light in the room so faint that it was the very next thing to darkness and the furniture stood out in it as vague blots of absolute darkness I stare with my eyes just over the bedclothes it came to my mind that someone had entered the room to rob me of my relo of money but after lying for some moments breathing regularly to simulate sleep I realized this was mere fancy nevertheless the uneasy assurance of something wrong kept fast hold of me with an effort I raised my head from the pillow and peered about me at the dark what it was I could not conceive I looked at the dim shapes around me the greater and lesser darkness that indicated curtains table fireplace bookshelves and so forth then I began to perceive something unfamiliar in the forms of the darkness had the bed turned round yonder should be the bookshelves and something shrouded in pallid rows there something that would not answer to the bookshelves however I looked at it it was far too big to be my shirt thrown on a chair overcoming a childish terror I threw back the bedclothes and thrust my leg out of bed instead of coming out of my chuckle bed upon the floor I found my foot scarcely reached the edge of the mattress I made another step as it were and sat up on the edge of the bed by the side of my bed should be a candle and matches upon the broken chair I put out my hand and touched nothing I waved my hand in the darkness and it came against some heavy hanging soft and thick in texture which gave a rustling noise at my touch I grasped this and pulled it it appeared to be a curtain suspended over the head of my bed I was now thoroughly awake and beginning to realize that I was in a strange room I was puzzled I tried to recall the overnight circumstances and found them now curiously enough vivid in my memory the supper my reception of the little packages my wonder whether I was intoxicated my slow undressing the coolness to my flush face of my pillow I felt the sudden distrust was that last night or the night before at any rate this room was strange to me and I could not imagine how I got into it the dim pallet outline was growing paler and I perceived it was a window with the dark shape of an oval toilet glass against a weak intimation of the dawn that filtered through the blind I stood up and was surprised by a curious feeling of weakness and unsteadiness with trembling hands outstretched I walked slowly towards the window and saw a glass a bruise on the knee from a chair, by the way I fumbled around the glass which was large with handsome brass sconces to find the blind cord I could not find any by chance I took hold of the tassel and with the click of a spring the blind ran up I found myself looking out upon a scene that was altogether strange to me the night was overcast and through the fosulent gray of the heat clouds there filtered a faint half-light of dawn just at the edge of the sky the canopy had a blood-red rim below everything was dark and indistinct dim hills in the distance a vague mass of buildings running up into pinnacles trees like spilt ink and below the window a tracery of black bushes and pale gray paths it was so unfamiliar that for the moment I thought myself still dreaming I felt the toilet table it appeared to be made of some polished wood and was rather elaborately furnished there were little cut glass bottles and a brush upon it there was also a queer little object horseshoe shaped it felt with smooth hard projections lying in a saucer I could find no matches nor candlestick I turned my eyes to the room again now the blind was up faint specters of its furnishings came out of the darkness there was a huge curtain bed and the fireplace at its foot had a large white mantle with something of the shimmer of marble I leant against the toilet table shut my eyes and opened them again and tried to think the whole thing was far too real for dreaming I was inclined to imagine there was still some hiatus in my memory as a consequence of my draft of that strange liquor that I had come into my inheritance perhaps and suddenly lost my recollection of everything since my good fortune had been announced perhaps if I waited a little things would become clear to me again yet my dinner with old Ellisham was now singularly vivid and recent the champagne the observant waders the powder and the liqueurs I could have staked my soul it all happened a few hours ago then it occurred the thing so trivial and yet so terrible to me that I shiver now to think of that moment I spoke aloud I said how the devil did I get here and the voice was not my own it was not my own it was thin the articulation was slurred the resonance of my facial bones was different then to reassure myself I ran one hand over the other and felt loose folds of skin the bony laxity of age surely I said in that horrible voice that had somehow established itself in my throat surely this thing is a dream almost as quickly as if I did it involuntarily I thrust my fingers into my mouth my teeth had gone my fingertips ran on the flaccid surface of an even row of shriveled gums I was sick with dismay and disgust I felt then a passionate desire to see myself to realize at once in its full horror the ghastly change that had come upon me I tottered to the mantle and felt along it for matches as I did so a barking cough sprang up in my throat and I clutched the thick flannel nightdress I found about me there were no matches there and I suddenly realized that my extremities were cold sniffing and coughing whimpering a little perhaps I fumbled back to bed it is surely a dream I whispered to myself as I clamber back surely a dream it was a senile repetition I pulled the bedclothes over my shoulders over my ears I thrust my withered hand under the pillow and determined to compose myself to sleep of course it was a dream in the morning the dream would be over and I should wake up strong and vigorous again in my studies I shut my eyes, breathed regularly and finding myself wakeful began to count slowly through the powers of three but the thing I desired would not come I could not get to sleep and the persuasion of the inexperable reality of the change that had happened to me grew steadily presently I found myself with my eyes wide open the powers of three forgotten and my skinny fingers upon my shriveled gums I was indeed an old man I had, in some unaccountable manner fallen through my life and come to old age in some way I had been cheated of all the best of my life of love, of struggle, of strength and hope I groveled into the pillow and tried to persuade myself that such hallucination was possible imperceptibly steadily the dawn grew clearer at last despairing of further sleep I set up in bed and looked about me this twilight rendered the whole chamber visible it was spacious and well furnished better furnished than any room I had ever slept in before a candle and matches became dimly visible upon a little pedestal in a recess I threw back the bed clothes and shivering with the rawness of the early morning albeit it was summertime I got out and lit the candle then, trembling horribly so that the extinguisher rattled on its spike I tottered to the glass and saw Elvisham's face it was nonetheless horrible because I had already dimly feared as much he had already seen physically weak and pitiful to me but seen now dressed only in a coarse flannel nightdress that fell apart and showed the stringy neck seen now as my own body I cannot describe its desolate decrepitude the hollow cheeks the straggling tail of dirty gray hair the roomy, bleared eyes the quivering, shriveled lips the lower displaying a gleam of the pink interior lining and those horrible dark gums showing you who were in mind and body together at your natural years cannot imagine what this fiendish imprisonment meant to me to be young and full of desire and energy of youth and to be caught and presently to be crushed in this tottering ruin of a body but I wander from the course of my story for some time I must have been stunned at this change that had come upon me it was daylight when I did so far gather myself together as to think in some inexplicable way I had been changed though how short of magic the thing had been done I could not say and as I thought the diabolical ingenuity of Elvisham came home to me it seemed plain to me that as I found myself in his so he must be in possession of my body of my strength that is and my future but how to prove it then as I thought the fame became so incredible even to me that my mind reeled and I had to pinch myself to feel my toothless gums to see myself in the glass and touch the things about me before I could steady myself to face the facts again was all life hallucination was I indeed Elvisham and he me had I been dreaming of Eden overnight was there any Eden but if I was Elvisham I should remember where I was on the previous morning the name of the town in which I lived what happened before the dream began I struggled with my thoughts I recall the queer doubleness of my memories overnight but now my mind was clear not the ghost of any memories but those of proper Eden could I raise this way lies insanity I cried in my piping voice I staggered to my feet dragged my feeble heavy limbs to the wash hand stand and plunged my gray head into a basin of cold water then touting myself I tried again it was no good I felt beyond all question that I was indeed Eden not Elvisham but Eden in Elvisham's body had I been a man of any other age I might have given myself up to my fate as one enchanted but in these skeptical days miracles do not pass current here were some trick of psychology what a drug in a steady stare could do a drug in a steady stare or some similar treatment could surely undo men have lost their memories before but to exchange memories as one does umbrellas I laughed, alas not a hearty laugh but a wheezing senile titter I could have fancied old Elvisham laughing at my plight and a gust of petulant anger unusual to me swept across my feelings I began dressing eagerly in the clothes I found lying about on the floor and only realized when I was dressed that it was an evening suit I had assumed I opened the wardrobe and found some more ordinary clothes a pair of plaid trousers and an old fashioned dressing gown I put a venerable smoking cap on my venerable head and coughing a little for my exertions tottered out upon the landing it was then perhaps a quarter to six and the blinds were closely drawn in the house quite silent the landing was a spacious one a broad richly carpeted staircase went down into the darkness of the hall below and before me a door a jar a writing desk a revolving bookcase the back of a study chair and a fine array of bound books shelf upon shelf my study I mumbled and walked across the landing then at the sound of my voice a thought struck me and I went back to the bedroom and put in the set of false teeth they slipped in with the ease of old habit that's better said I gnashing them and so returned to the study the drawers of the writing desk were locked I could see no indications of the keys and there were none in the pockets of my trousers I shuffled back at once to the bedroom and went through the dress suit and afterwards the pockets of all the garments I could find I was very eager and one might have imagined that burglars had been at work to see my room when I had done not only were there no keys to be found but not a coin nor a scrap of paper save only the receded bill of the overnight dinner a curious weariness asserted itself I sat down and stared at the garments flung here and there their pockets turned inside out my first frenzy had already flickered out every moment I was beginning to realize the immense intelligence of the plans of my enemy to see more and more clearly the hopelessness of my position with an effort I rose and hurried hobbling into the study again on the staircase was a housemaid pulling up the blinds she stared I think at the expression of my face I shut the door of the study behind me a poker began an attack upon the desk that is how they found me the cover of the desk was split the lock smashed the letters torn out of the pigeonholes and tossed about the room in my senile rage I had flung about the pens and other such light stationery and overturned the ink moreover a large vase upon the mantle had got broken I did not know how I could find no checkbook no money no indications of the slightest use for the recovery of my body I was battering madly at the drawers when the butler back by two women servants intruded upon me that simply is the story of my change no one will believe my frantic assertions I am treated as one demented and even at this moment I am under restraint but I am sane absolutely sane and to prove it I have sat down to write the story minutely as the things happen to me I appeal to the reader whether there is any trace of insanity in the style or method of the story he has been reading I am a young man locked away in an old man's body but the clear fact is incredible to everyone naturally I appear demented to those who will not believe this naturally I do not know the names of my secretaries of the doctors who come to see me of my servants and neighbors of this town, wherever it is where I find myself naturally I lose myself in my own house and suffer inconveniences of every sort naturally I ask the oddest questions naturally I weep and cry out and have paroxysms of despair I have no money and no checkbook the bank will not recognize my signature for I suppose that allowing for the feeble muscles I now have my handwriting is still edence these people about me will not let me go to the bank personally it seems indeed that there is no bank in this town and that I have an account in some part of London it seems that Elbisham kept the name of his solicitor secret from all his household I can ascertain nothing Elbisham was of course a profound student of mental science and all my declarations of the facts of the case merely confirm the theory that my insanity is the outcome of over much brooding upon psychology dreams of the personal identity indeed two days ago I was a healthy youngster with all my life before me now I am a furious old man unkempt and desperate and miserable prowling about a great luxurious strange house watch, feared and avoided as a lunatic by everyone about me and in London is Elbisham beginning life again in a vigorous body with all the accumulated knowledge and wisdom of three score and ten he has stolen my life what has happened I do not clearly know in the study or volumes of manuscript notes referring chiefly to the psychology of memory in parts of what may be either calculations or ciphers and symbols absolutely strange to me in some passages there are indications that he was also occupied with the philosophy of mathematics I take it he has transferred the whole of his memories the accumulations that makes up his personality from this old wither brain of his to mine and similarly that he has transferred mine to his discarded tenement practically that is he has changed bodies but how such a change may be possible is without the range of my philosophy I have been a materialist for all my thinking life but here suddenly is a clear case of man's detachability from matter one desperate experiment I am about to try I sit writing here before putting the matter to issue this morning with the help of a table knife that I had secreted at breakfast I succeeded in breaking open a fairly obvious secret drawer in this wrecked writing desk I discovered nothing save a little green glass file containing a white powder round the neck of the file was a label and there on was written this one word release this may be is most probably poison I can understand Elisham placing poison in my way and I should be sure that it was his intention to so get rid of the only living witness against him were it not for his careful concealment the man has practically solved the problem of immortality save for the spite of chance he will live in my body until it is aged and then again, throwing that aside he will assume some other victims' youth and strength when one remembers his heartlessness it is terrible to think of the ever-growing experience that how long has he been leaping from body to body but I tire of writing the powder appears to be soluble in water the taste is not unpleasant there the narrative found upon Mr. Elisham's desk ends his dead body lay between the desk and the chair the latter had been pushed back probably by his last convulsions the story was written in pencil and in a crazy hand quite unlike his minute characters there remain only two curious facts to record indisputably there was some connection between Eden and Elisham since a whole of Elisham's property was bequeathed to the young man but he never inherited when Elisham committed suicide Eden was, strangely enough, already dead twenty-four hours before he had been knocked down by a cab and killed instantly at the crowded crossing at the intersection of Gower Street and Euston Road so that the only human being who could have thrown light upon this fantastic narrative is beyond the reach of questions without further comment I leave this extraordinary matter to the reader's individual judgment end of the story of the late Mr. Elisham by H. G. Wells Recording by James Christopher JX Christopher at Yahoo.com January 2009