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"Here are you, young and ignorant, and me sevendy years old, and I might reasonably be forgetting explaining it all to you short and clear. "Sevendy," he said, "sevendy, and I hear and see hear better than I see. And reason clearly, and keep myself up to all the happenings of things. Sevendy! "Life is strange. I was twaindy before Ostrog was a baby.
"This is the Council House," said Ostrog. "Their last stronghold. And the fools wasted enough ammunition to hold out for a month in blowing up the buildings all about them to stop our attack. You heard the smash? It shattered half the brittle glass in the city."
"I suppose I do not clearly understand the conditions of this fighting. If you could explain. Where is the Council? Where is the fight?" Ostrog stepped across the room, something clicked, and suddenly, save for an oval glow, they were in darkness. For a moment Graham was puzzled.
For a moment he did not understand. And then he perceived that the flagstaff that had carried the white banner was bare. "Do you mean ?" he began. "The Council has surrendered. Its rule is at an end for evermore." "Look!" and Ostrog pointed to a coil of black that crept in little jerks up the vacant flagstaff, unfolding as it rose.
Ostrog said something to Lincoln and advanced alone. Graham was the first to speak. His voice was loud and dictatorial. "What is this I hear?" he asked. "Are you bringing negroes here to keep the people down?" "It is none too soon," said Ostrog. "They have been getting out of hand more and more, since the revolt. I under-estimated " "Do you mean that these infernal negroes are on the way?"
Scraps floated to him, scraps like Pigeon English, like 'nigger' dialect, blurred and mangled distortions. He dared accost no one with questions. The impression the people gave him jarred altogether with his preconceptions of the struggle and confirmed the old man's faith in Ostrog.
But things are very quiet in America. They are satisfied with the overthrow of the Council. For the time." "Why should you expect trouble?" asked Graham abruptly. "There is a lot of discontent social discontent." "The Labour Department?" "You are learning," said Ostrog with a touch of surprise. "Yes. It is chiefly the discontent with the Labour Department.
It isn't all Babble Machine with me." "No," said Graham, wondering what Babble Machine might be. "And you are certain this Ostrog you are certain Ostrog organised this rebellion and arranged for the waking of the Sleeper? Just to assert himself because he was not elected to the Council?" "Everyone knows that, I should think," said the old man. "Except just fools. He meant to be master somehow.
Scraps floated to him, scraps like Pigeon English, like "nigger" dialect, blurred and mangled distortions. He dared accost no one with questions. The impression the people gave him jarred altogether with his preconceptions of the struggle and confirmed the old man's faith in Ostrog.
But at last the darkness swallowed him, and Graham saw him no more. Graham could now take a clearer view of his position. For a long time yet he wandered, but after the talk of the old man his discovery of this Ostrog was clear in his mind as the final inevitable decision.
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