Essential Science Fiction Novels - Volume 6. Richard Jefferies

fitted his athletic figure perfectly. He rapped softly on the window-casement and bowed when they turned.

      “Your breakfast is waiting for you,” he announced. They followed him into a room adjoining the one they had occupied, and found a table holding a sumptuous repast. The boy gave them seats and handed them golden plates to eat upon. The fruits, wine and meats were very appetizing, and they ate with relish.

      “I believe we are to be conducted to the palace of your king to-morrow,” ventured the Englishman to the boy.

      The boy shook his head, but made no reply, and busied himself with removing the dishes. As they were rising from the table, they heard footsteps in the hall outside. The door opened. It was Captain Tradmos, and he was accompanied by a tall, bearded man with a leather case under his arm.

      “You must undergo a medical examination,” the captain said smilingly. “It is our invariable custom, but this is by a special order from the king.”

      Johnston shuddered as he looked at the odd-looking instruments the medical man was taking from the case, but Thorndyke watched his movements with phlegmatic indifference. He stood erect; threw back his shoulders; expanded his massive chest and struck it with his clenched fist in pantomimic boastfulness.

      Tradmos smiled genially; but there was something curt and official in his tone when he next spoke that took the Englishman slightly aback. “You must bare your breast over your heart and lungs,” he said; and while Thorndyke was unbuttoning his shirt, he and the medical man went to the door and brought into the room a great golden bell hanging in a metallic frame.

      The bell was so thin and sensitive to the slightest jar or movement that, although it had been handled with extreme care, the captives could see that it was vibrating considerably, and the room was filled with a low metallic sound that not only affected the ear of the hearer but set every nerve to tingling. The medical man stopped the sound by laying his hand upon the bell. To a tube in the top of the bell he fastened one end of a rubber pipe; the other end was finished with a silver device shaped like the mouth-piece of a speaking tube. This he firmly pressed over the Englishman's heart. Thorndyke winced and bit his lip, for the strange thing took hold of his flesh with the tenacity of a powerful suction-pump.

      “Ouch!” he exclaimed playfully, but Johnston saw that he had turned pale, and that his face was drawn as if from pain.

      “Hold still!” ordered the medical man; “it will be over in a minute; now, be perfectly quiet and listen to the bell!”

      The Englishman stood motionless, the sinews of his neck drawn and knotted, his eyes starting from their sockets. Thorndyke felt the rubber tube quiver suddenly and writhe with the slow energy of a dying snake, and then from the quivering bell came a low, gurgling sound like a stream of water being forced backward and forward.

      Tradmos and the medical man stepped to the bell and inspected a small dial on its top.

      “What was that?” gasped the Englishman, purple in the face.

      “The sound of your blood,” answered Tradmos, as he removed the instrument from Thorndyke's flesh; “it is as regular as mine; you are very lucky; you are slightly fatigued, but you will be sound in a day or two.”

      “Thank you,” replied the Englishman, but he sank into a chair, overcome with weakness.

      “Now, I'll take you, please,” said the medical man, motioning Johnston to rise.

      “I am slightly nervous,” apologized the latter, as he stood up and awkwardly fumbled the buttons of his coat.

      “Nervousness is a mental disease,” said the man, with professional brusqueness; “it has nothing to do with the body except to dominate it at times. If you pass your examination you may live to overcome it.”

      The American looked furtively at Thorndyke, but the head of the Englishman had sunk on his breast and he seemed to be asleep. Johnston had never felt so lonely and forsaken in his life. From his childhood he had entertained a secret fear that he had inherited heart disease, and like Maupassant's “Coward,” who committed suicide rather than meet a man in a duel, he had tried in vain to get away from the horrible, ever-present thought by plunging into perilous adventures.

      At that moment he felt that he would rather die than know the worst from the uncanny instrument that had just tortured his strong comrade till he was overcome with exhaustion.

      “I never felt better in my life,” he said falteringly, but it seemed to him that every nerve and muscle in his frame was withering through fear. His tongue felt clumsy and thick and his knees were quivering as with ague.

      “Stand still,” ordered the physician sternly, and Johnston was further humiliated by having Tradmos sympathetically catch hold of his arm to steady him.

      “Your people are far advanced in the sciences,” went on the physician coldly, “but there are only a few out of their number who know that the mind governs the body and that fear is its prime enemy. Five minutes ago you were eating heartily and had your share of physical strength, and yet the mere thought that you are now to know the actual condition of your most vital organ has made you as weak as an infant. If you kept up this state of mind for a month it would kill you.

      “Now listen,” he went on, as the instrument gripped Johnston's flesh and the rubber tube began to twist and move as if charged with electricity. The American held his breath. A sound as of water being forced through channels that were choked, mingled with a wheezing sound like wind escaping from a broken bellows came from the bell.

      “Your frame is all right,” said the medical man, as he released the trembling American, “but you have long believed in the weakness of your heart and it has, on that account, become so. You must banish all fear from your thoughts. You perhaps know that we have a place specially prepared for those who are not physically sound. I am sorry that you do not stand a better examination.”

      Tradmos regarded the American with a look of sympathy as he gave him a chair and then rang a bell on the table. Thorndyke looked up sleepily, as an attendant entered with a couple of parcels, and glanced wonderingly at his friend's white face and bloodshot eyes.

      “What's the matter?” he asked; but Johnston made no reply, for the captain had opened the parcels and taken out two suits of silken clothing.

      “Put them on,” he said, giving a suit of gray to Johnston and one of light blue to Thorndyke. “We shall leave you to change your attire, and I shall soon come for you.”

      IV

      In a few minutes the captain returned and found his prisoners ready to go with him. Thorndyke looked exceedingly handsome in his glossy tights, close-fitting sack-coat, tinsel belt and low shoes with buckles of gold. The natural color had come back into his cheeks, and he was exhilarated over the prospect of further adventure.

      It was not so, however, with poor Johnston; his spirits had been so dampened by the physician's words that he could not rally from his despondency. His suit fitted his figure as well as that of the Englishman, but he could not wear it with the same hopeful grace.

      “Cheer up!” whispered Thorndyke, as they followed the captain through a long corridor, “if we are on our way to the stake or block we are at least going dressed like gentlemen.”

      Outside they found the streets lined with spectators eagerly waiting to see them pass. The men all had suits like those which had been given the captives, and the women wore flowing gowns like those of ancient Greece.

      “These are the common people,” whispered Thorndyke to Johnston, “but did you ever dream of such perfect features and physiques? Every face is full of merriment and good cheer. I am curious to see the royalty.”

      Johnston made no reply, for Captain Tradmos turned suddenly and faced them.

      “Stand here till I return,” he said, and he went back into the house.

      “Where in