Fletcher Pratt

“ They gathered in the Times Square drug store in a strange babble of phonographic voices and clang of metal parts against the stone floor and soda fountains. It was Roberts who secured a position behind one of these erstwhile dispensers of liquid soothing-syrup and rapped for order.
“I think the first thing to be done,” he said, when the voices had grown quiet in answer to his appeal, “is to organize the group of people here and search for more. ”

“ The Red Flag forever. Free love, free beer, no work!”
“Yes,” said Gloria, “what's the use of all this metallizing, anyway? We got rid of a lot of old applesauce about restrictions and here you want to tie us up again. More and better anarchy!”
“Say,” came a deep and raucous voice from one of the newcomers. “Why don't we have just a straw boss for a while till we see how things work out? ”

“ All the medical and biological science of the world must be discarded and built up again. At this very moment we may be suffering from the lack of something that is absolutely necessary to our existence—though I admit I cannot imagine what it could be. ”

“ Murray replied. “Life was getting pretty complicated and artificial—at least for me. There were so many things one had to do before one began living—you know, picking the proper friends and all that.” ”

“ These joints, for instance—,” he touched Ben's elbow, “—and what about the little rubber pads on your fingers and toes and the end of your nose?”
There was a universal motion on the part of the others to feel of their noses. It was as the lawyer had said—they were, like the fingers and toes, certainly very much like rubber—and movable! ”

“ That's what boggles your scheme. Everybody's changed to metal and nobody left to make the changes you mention. However, let's go get the rest of your folks. I wonder if we ought to have weapons. You two wait here.”
He clanked off with the lawyer to the taxi. A moment later, the tooting of the horn announced their return. The party consisted, beside Roberts himself, of his daughter, Ola Mae, a girl of sixteen, petulant over the fact that her high-heeled shoes were already breaking down under her weight ”

“ Now you, Miss Rutherford, first.”
“My name is Gloria Rutherford and I can't do anything but play tennis, drink gin and drive a car.”
The rest of the replies followed: “F. W. Stevens, Wall Street,” “Theodore Roberts, lawyer,” “Archibald Tholfsen, chess-player,” “H. M. Dangerfield, editor,” “Francis X. O'Hara, trucking business,” (this was the loud-voiced man who had cut the Gordian knot of the argument about organization) . “Are you a mechanic, too?” asked Ben. ”