Wallace West

“ For a long while Jonathan stared at the pages. The singing of the canaries—their cages occupied every corner of the bedroom—finally roused him.
"Tom!"
"Yes sir." The old man had been waiting outside the door.
"Turn all these damned birds loose."
"But you'll need them to test the air in the mine, sir; the gas gets bad at times."
"Turn them loose, I said. At once!"
"Yes sir." Quietly the Negro went about the room, opening cage doors. Jonathan followed his progress with growing horror. The birds, so long accustomed to captivity, refused freedom. ”

“ We no can work. Kill him. Kill! Kill!"
This time Jock got the response he had been seeking. The workers—more than 500 of them—surged forward, snarling deep in their throats.
Jonathan took a step toward the mob but Tom pulled him back. "Wait, Mister Johnny. They know me. If anybody can check them, I can."
The old man clambered onto one of the few upright benches and shouted for silence. For a moment he got it. Then Jock hurled a chisel. The blade slashed Tom's cheek. At the sight of blood the crowd went wild and charged. ”

“ Tom came with us to New Patmos.
I considered myself something of a radical in those days. When I learned of conditions here, I demanded that my father free our laborers. The old man—he died a few months later—merely shrugged and declared they were free. "Their unending toil and inbreeding have made machines of them," he said. "They are helpless now. You must care for them, my son; you can never leave the island again lest they starve." ”

“ Tom moved about the room collecting the birds. "Don't take things so hard; you'll only become ill."
For several days Jonathan wandered about the island, avoiding the sight of the factory. But the place fascinated him and at last drew him back to its mildewed corridors. He might have been only a shadow so far as most of the workers were concerned. Jock remembered him, however, snarling softly and crouching more closely over his work when his master passed by. ”

“ I'm afraid!"
"There, there, Tom." Although his heart was breaking, it warmed to this display of humanness in the old man. "We'll lick this thing yet. Tell you what.... Tonight we'll go to the factory, barricade the doors and windows ... keep the fools out until they come to their senses."
"It won't be any use." Tom rose slowly, his fat old face drawn in stern lines. "Nevertheless, we'll fight it out together, if you wish."
"Very well, Tom." Jonathan stretched out his hand and grasped that of the other over the body of the dead girl. ”

“ He waved away the luncheon which Tom brought, then, as the old man started to leave the room, called him back. "Who's in charge at the factory?" he asked.
"There's nobody rightly in charge, sir; things just run themselves."
"Who is that creature with the voice like a squeaky hinge, then?"
"Oh, that's Jock, the men's supervisor, sir. He only...."
"Jock!" Jonathan caught his breath. "Could that be Jock MacPherson, 7th, a descendant of Sir Jonathan's original overseer?" ”

“ You can't leave your people to starve." The whites of Tom's eyes glistened. "You have to send out shipments of stones and the ultramarine dye which is made at the factory; you have to distribute the food which comes in."
"Nonsense. I'll pay them off and arrange for a boat to pick them up if they want to leave the island. They'll get along...." ”

“ Scientific theories are never "true or "false"; they are "good" or "bad" in various degrees, and the criterion is one of usefulness—predictability and manipulation to (seeming) advantage. Theories are often discarded, simply because evidence may be insufficient for one, where it seems to sustain another—or where another can account for observed phenomena more simply. ”

“ Try in your turn if you must. It will be useless, but the effort will permit you to sleep. The centuries have dug a rut too deep for the creatures to climb out of. They have become like my canaries, poor.... ”

“ Your father was going to install new ones, but the miners don't seem bothered by the foulness. The air may become highly explosive. That's why we keep the canaries. But since the miners have stopped using lights...." He plodded toward the surface while his master walked close beside him as the one remaining link to the world of reality.
Back in the factory workroom at last, Jonathan mounted a bench and shouted for attention. The belt flapped idly on; work continued. Most of the laborers lifted their eyes to stare at him dully. ”

“ And this one's ... so tough that he can reach right into his forge."
"Have they lost the power of speech?"
"Oh, no, sir. They talk when speech is necessary in carrying on their work. Just a few words, though—like parrots, I would say." ”