THE DOOM OF LONDON
Six Stories by
Fred M. White
Illustrated by
Warwick Goble
First published in Pearson's Magazine, London, 1903-4
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
THE FOUR WHITE DAYS.
THE FOUR DAYS' NIGHT.
THE DUST OF DEATH.
A BUBBLE BURST.
THE INVISIBLE FORCE.
THE RIVER OF DEATH.
THE FOUR WHITE DAYS.
A Tale of London in the Grip of an Arctic Winter—Showing the Danger AnyWinter might Bring from Famine, Cold, and Fire.
I.
The editor of The Daily Chat wondered alittle vaguely why he had come down to theoffice at all. Here was the thermometerdown to 11° with every prospect of touchingzero before daybreak, and you can't fill amorning paper with weather reports. Besides,nothing was coming in from the North of theTrent beyond the curt information that alltelegraphic and telephonic communicationbeyond was impossible. There was a hugeblizzard, a heavy fall of snow nipped hardby the terrific frost and—silence.
To-morrow—January 25th—would see apretty poor paper unless America rousedup to a sense of her responsibility andsent something hot to go on with. TheLand's End cables often obliged in thatway. There was the next chapter of theBeef and Bread Trust, for instance. WasSilas X. Brett going to prove successful inhis attempt to corner the world's supply?That Brett had been a pawnbroker'sassistant a year ago mattered little. Thathe might at any time emerge a pennilessadventurer mattered less. From a presspoint of view he was good for threecolumns.
The chief "sub" came in, blowing hisfingers. The remark that he was frozen tothe marrow caused no particular sympathy.
"Going to be a funeral rag to-morrow,"the editor said curtly.
"That's so," Gough admitted cheerfully."We've drawn a thrilling picture of theThames impassable to craft—and well itmight be after a week of this Arctic weather.For days not a carcase or a sack of flourhas been brought in. Under the circumstanceswe were justified in prophesying a bread andmeat famine. And we've had our customarygibe at Silas X. Brett. But still, it's poor stuff."
The editor thought he would go home.Still he dallied, on the off chance of somethingturning up. It was a little aftermidnight when he began to catch the suggestionof excitement that seemed to be simmeringin the sub-editor's room. There was aclatter of footsteps outside. By magic the placebegan to hum like a hive.
"What have you struck, Gough?" theeditor cried.
Gough came tumbling in, a sheaf offlimsies in his hand.
"Brett's burst," he gasped. "It's a realgodsend, Mr. Fisher. I've got enough hereto make three columns. Brett's committedsuicide."
Fisher slipped out of his overcoat. Everythingcomes to the man who waits. He ranhis trained eyes over th