There is a Real Thrill in These Final Chapters of
The Story So Far
A strong voice over the radio broadcasts to the entire world the demand that war must be abolished, and orders the United States to demobilize, except for the necessary civil police, by May first. If demobilization is not accomplished by that date, the voice warns, the Capitol of the United States will be utterly destroyed by etheric vibrations when Congress is in session.
To prove his power, the speaker destroys, on successive nights, a brewery at Great Falls, Montana, the quadrangle at Fort Sam Houston, Texas, and The Breakers on the Isle of Palma near Charleston, South Carolina. At the announced time these buildings shimmer and glow, and inside of a second are turned into red dust.
The President advises Congress to stand firm, and offers to meet in session with it after May first until the danger is averted. Meantime all efforts of government are turned toward seeking the source of the etheric rays, and riots occur throughout the nation.
Douglas Blandon, a young engineer, stumbles upon the source of the menace in the wilds of Tennessee while exploring 3,000 acres of wild land that has been left to him. His dog is instantly wiped out, changed in a trice to cosmic dust, by collision with the wire mesh fence that surrounds the power house where Hilda Thorsby and her father are conducting their campaign against war. Blandon sprains his ankle, falls and strikes his head, and is rescued by the Thorsbys, but finds himself helpless to escape to warn the world, because of the meshed-wire fence that surrounds the place and that carries the death-dealing vibrations. Thorsby explains to Blandon than he can tune in to the vibrations of the electrons, halt their flow around the atom, and thus instantly destroy matter, at any distance, controlling the radius and directions at which his rays will strike.
6
Thorsby led the wav from the laboratory back to the living room, where Hilda awaited them, a question in her eyes. Blandon did not seat himself. He stood leaning on his crutch watching them both. Thorsby's moment of rage was passed and he was contemplating his guest calmly.
"Won't you sit down, Mr. Blandon?" he asked courteously. Blandon did not hear the question, for he was trying to frame his thoughts. His plan was changed. He could not hide his intentions any longer.
"Mr. Thorsby, you are wrong, all wrong," he suddenly spoke, and never in his life had he been so serious. "You can't realize how wrong you are, sir. Don't you see what you are doing? You are wrecking the country you say you want to save, and when she is gone there is nothing left.'
Thorsby did not move or change expression. Blandon went on.
"You have only frightened the little minds you talk about. The big minds are unafraid. They see things as they are. They see that little minds have to be made big before force may be abolished. What are ships and forts and guns but larger clubs and stones and arrows than the primitive man once used? Man has fought since the beginning of time. He fought to be a man and then kept on fighting to grow into a better man. Civilization is founded on . this uphill fight. Every time man has fought, something better has come out of it. I don't mean that wars start for better things—they are outbursts that somehow leave the world better off:
"You are not going to stop them because you take away the things that kill easily. They will fight each other with fists and stones and clubs and knives. You are not going to teach the little minds anything. Haven't the mobs, your little mind in mass,
