At that moment the sun rose clear, and revealed the blinking assembly to
itself. As soon as it realized that it was a crowd we saw the shiver of
horror and mutual repulsion shoot across it precisely as the steely
flaws shot across the lake outside. Nothing was said, and, being half
blind, of course it moved slowly. Yet in less than fifteen minutes most
of that vast multitude--three thousand at the lowest count--melted away
like frost on south eaves. The remnant stretched themselves on the
grass, where a crowd feels and looks less like a crowd.

'These mean business,' the Mayor whispered to Takahira. 'There are a
goodish few women there who've borne children. I don't like it.'

The morning draught off the lake stirred the trees round us with promise
of a hot day; the sun reflected itself dazzlingly on the canister-shaped
covering of Salati's Statue; cocks crew in the gardens, and we could
hear gate-latches clicking in the distance as people stumblingly
resought their homes.

'I'm afraid there won't be any morning deliveries,' said De Forest. 'We
rather upset things in the country last night.'

'That makes no odds,' the Mayor returned. 'We're all provisioned for six
months. _We_ take no chances.'

Nor, when you come to think of it, does any one else. It must be
three-quarters of a generation since any house or city faced a food
shortage. Yet is there house or city on the Planet to-day that has not
half a year's provisions laid in? We are like the shipwrecked seamen in
the old books, who, having once nearly starved to death, ever afterwards