As we passed through the dim and dust-covered buildings I looked
curiously at the figures in the cases.
“By Jove!” I said looking at one figure in blue clothes with a belt and
baton, “that’s a policeman!”
“Really,” said my new acquaintance, “is _that_ what a _policeman_ was?
I’ve often wondered. What used they to be used for?”
“Used for?” I repeated in perplexity. “Why, they stood at the corner of
the street.”
“Ah, yes, I see,” he said, “so as to shoot at the people. You must
excuse my ignorance,” he continued, “as to some of your social customs
in the past. When I took my education I was operated upon for social
history, but the stuff they used was very inferior.”
I didn’t in the least understand what the man meant, but had no time to
question him, for at that moment we came out upon the street, and I
stood riveted in astonishment.
Broadway! Was it possible? The change was absolutely appalling! In
place of the roaring thoroughfare that I had known, this silent,
moss-grown desolation. Great buildings fallen into ruin through the
sheer stress of centuries of wind and weather, the sides of them coated
over with a growth of fungus and moss! The place was soundless. Not a
vehicle moved. There were no wires overhead—no sound of life or
movement except, here and there, there passed slowly to and fro human
figures dressed in the same asbestos clothes as my acquaintance, with
the same hairless faces, and the same look of infinite age upon them.
Good heavens! And was this the era of the Conquest that I had hoped to
see! I had always taken for granted, I do not know why, that humanity
was destined to move forward. This picture of what seemed desolation on
the ruins of our civilisation rendered me almost speechless.
There were little benches placed here and there on the street. We sat
down.
“Improved, isn’t it,” said man in asbestos, “since the days when you
remember it?”
He seemed to speak quite proudly.