The Golden Age of Weird Fiction Megapack, Volume 5

by David H. Keller

  She never returned to college. Instead, she stayed in New York as the stenographer of a young physician. He was poor and his patients were poorer, but he was rather rich in having Mirabella in his office. In fact, they had decided on such a future while he was yet a medical student and she a student in a college. They had met at a dance. In a moment of confidence, she explained to him that she wanted to be a stenographer. That interested him and he returned her confidence by telling how he had bitterly disappointed his parents by becoming a doctor instead. At that time he did not know that she was the only child of Hiram Smith, owner and president of Universal Utilities—she was just a rich girl who wanted to be a stenographer, while he was only a poor boy who did not want to be one.

  Mirabella Smith had gone directly from her father’s office to the residence of the young physician. She lost no time in announcing her decision to him.

  “I have come to be your stenographer, Carleton,” she said in a very serious voice. “More than that, some day, I hope. I have just had my talk with father and he has told me some horrible things, and shown me even worse sights. For over two hundred years the company, which I will some day own, has been deliberately breeding stenographers—as cattle or white rats—breeding them to write perfect letters so Universal Utilities can become great and crush out its competitors. Now, after two hundred years, the poor things are just like machines. I saw them writing with the speed of a tornado for forty-five minutes and then resting quietly for fifteen minutes more till the sound of the dictating voice again spurred them into an almost super-human frenzy. I will own that company some day and with it will come the ownership of ten thousand human machines and their pitiful little children. Think of the babies—I understand that when they are old enough to talk they are put to work on miniature machines. They mature at nine, marry at ten. They have no childhood, no playtime. Why, even a hunting dog plays when it is a puppy. I wonder what they are like—socially. Can they talk—as we do?”

  The doctor looked at her lovingly, as he answered, “I can tell you a lot about it, Mirabella. I never wanted to tell you before because I did not want to hurt your feelings. My father and mother were stenographers, working for Universal Utilities, just as you say those people are working today. I was their first and only child. They had great hopes for me—I was a well formed baby—they longed for me to grow to be the Perfect Stenographer. But when the time came for my earliest training, something went wrong. I screamed at the sight of the toy typewriter that they put in front of me. I never did learn to use it—I would not even touch it. To my parent’s surprise, I only grew half as fast, both mentally and physically, as the other children of my age. At ten, when the other children were working and thinking of marrying, I had not yet entered my adolescence. Horrified, degraded by the thought that they had produced a monstrosity, my parents had me placed in an average New York City home, where they contributed liberally to my support, though the family that cared for me learned to love me and wanted to adopt me legally. As I grew older, my mother lived in the hope that I would change. She would come to see me once a year, carrying a portable Underwood with her. With tears in her eyes she would beg me to try to write. I tried to humor her. I even promised her that I would take lessons, but it was impossible. Finally she lost hope and told me that she realized that I was right in planning to lead my life in my own way.

  “Last year I made an investigation. An ancestor of mine was a great New York surgeon. His daughter ran away, became a stenographer and worked for Universal Utilities. Scientists tell me that I am a throwback—a case of atavism. So, you see, I know what Universal Utilities has been doing. I am one of their experimental babies. I was born in one of their colonies, educated in one of their Community schools.

  “I will tell you one thing more—for the last year I have been part time physician in one of their smaller colonies. It is a poorly paying position but it helps me to meet expenses. While practicing in this colony, I found out something—I will tell you what it is, when I am more sure of it. Just now it is so horrible that I hesitate to believe that it is true.”

  Carleton continued to practice medicine and Mirabella wrote his letters. Now and then she sold one of her diamond rings.

  Meantime, life was not going smoothly for the thousands of people working in the gigantic office building, owned and operated by Universal Utilities. At first the truth was covered up, but finally it could not be concealed from Hiram Smith. He sat silently, white, sweating, trembling as the chairman of the Board of Directors told him the horrible fact.

  “The stenographic force no longer can be trusted. The number of errors they are making is unexplainable and unheard of. Mistakes in spelling, punctuation, addresses, use of capital letters—in fact they are making every possible mistake. The survey shows that there is no change in the Colony life—the habits of these workers are unchanged. They are still interested in their work—they are doing their best, but for some reason they are making mistakes by the million, and, what is worst of all—they do not seem to be conscious of the fact that they are making them. When their attention is called to the inaccuracy of their work, they seem unable to comprehend the gravity of the situation. As a result of the multitude of their errors, the entire machinery of the Universal Utilities has become completely demoralized. Over eighty percent of the letters have to be rewritten. The correspondence is three weeks behind hand, the letter clerks are becoming exhausted and neurasthenic, the sales force is discouraged and our shipping department no longer can work in harmony and with accuracy. Unless something is done at once, Universal Utilities will lose eighty percent of its customers.”

  Something had to be done! But first of all the cause had to be determined, the reason for these errors. All the science—the entire skill of the research department of the company, was put to work and yet, at the end of a week, nothing was learned, and; another week of disastrous errors followed.

  In the strain of events, Hiram Smith died. His daughter, Mirabella, at once took charge of Universal Utilities. Her first act was to call a meeting of her Board of Directors and speak to them. She began her address:

  “Over two hundred years ago an ancestor of mine decided to breed stenographers. He succeeded rather well. He not only bred like to like but eventually had a great deal of inbreeding. In this last generation, almost every husband and wife were cousins of some degree. No individuality was allowed and no initiative; he merely bred for accuracy and speed. All of you have followed in his footsteps. You have mated human beings as if they were rats or cattle. If you had studied the nervous systems of horses and dogs that have been bred in this way for many generations, you would have suspected the trouble with your present generation of stenographers. Any dog fancier will tell you how careful he has to be of white collies and fox terriers. One of your community doctors last year suspected what was going to happen.

  “Over eighty percent of your stenographers have nocturnal epilepsy. That means that they have convulsions which occur at night during their sleep. After the tonic and clonic muscular movements, they drop into a deep sleep, from which they only waken in time to dress, eat breakfast and go to work. They have no consciousness of the convulsion and no memory of it. On account of the intense muscular activity during the attack, they are tired, sore and bruised, when they start to work. That in itself would produce fatigue and errors, but in addition, there is in epilepsy, especially the nocturnal type, a very definite deterioration of the higher mental faculties. These unfortunates become dull, listless, incapable of highly specialized cerebration. They degenerate into listless animals. In their work, dress and speech, they give plain evidence of this dullness of the mind. Emotionally they change, become quarrelsome, abusive and indolent. This is what has happened to your office force. Two hundred years my ancestor started it; you have tried to carry out his plans—to breed stenographers. Instead, you have bred a race of demented epileptics. My medical friends, who are in your employ as physicians to the Colony children, tell me th
at almost all the little children are showing definite signs of the same nervous disease. You were not told of it sooner, because they were afraid of my father.”

  The Chairman of the Board looked dully at the young woman. Then he roused himself to action.

  “How did you learn all this?”

  “Oh! The doctor who made the discovery was a colony child. For some reason, your special foods and glandular preparations did not work on him and in his tenth year he was taken away from his parents and put in the home of common people. During those ten years he saw a great deal of the colony life—he used to play with the other children, and spend the nights with them. Things happened during the night that he could not understand, but he remembered them, especially when he started to study medicine. After he graduated, he worked for Universal Utilities as one of their Colony physicians, and his observations there made him positive of the presence of nocturnal epilepsy. Since then the disease has developed rapidly.”

  “Is there no cure?”

  “None whatever. Universal Utilities has on its hands and conscience ten thousand epileptics and their children. All that can be done is to allow the defective race to die out. You will have to reorganize your entire office force—go back to the old system of incompetent, error-making stenographers who, in spite of their faults, are at least intensely human.”

  The Chairman, in his indignation at a woman’s talking so disrespectfully and at such length to a dignified Board of Directors, demanded what the result would be.

  “Under the stress of reorganization,” Mirabella calmly replied, “Universal Utilities will lose over eighty percent of its business. The time will come, however, when once again it will function smoothly, under conditions similar to its competitors. I will try to make the lives of the new stenographers happy, but never again will any effort be made to interfere with the normal progress of nature in the breeding of human beings. The unfortunate epileptics will be well cared for, but will die rapidly, and in twenty-five years the colonies will be converted into suburban homes for normal workers from the great city.”

  “Enough of this outrage!” stormed the chairman. “This meddling physician you speak of—who is he? Where is he? We’ll teach him—”

  In reply, Mirabella Smith simply called a young man from the back of the room where he had been silently listening to the entire proceedings.

  “This is my husband, Dr. Carleton Thoney,” she said softly. “He used to be a colony child, but Providence made him a healthy physician instead of an epileptic stenographer. Together, we will do all we can, not only to make Universal Utilities a great business once more, but also to make full amends for the errors its leaders have committed in the past.”

  WHITE COLLARS

  Originally published in Amazing Stories Quarterly, Summer 1929.

  “The White Collars are on parade again!”

  The words were spoken with a mild contempt.

  Far below, in the canyon of Fifth Avenue, a thin line of men and women were struggling against the traffic. They carried banners, painted signs, and at the head of the column an American flag. It was a disorderly march, though they were all moving in one direction. That, and the fact that they were all united in purpose, were the only evidences of harmony. Their painted signs expressed their desires; their anxious faces told of the utter hopelessness of their ambitions.

  What they wanted was work and food.

  In order to gain the food they had to work.

  And there was no work for them!

  The two well-dressed men, who watched the struggling mass from the vantage point of an eleventh story office window, gazed on the marchers with mingled pity and contempt. One of them repeated:

  “The White Collars are on parade again!”

  “At least it is an interesting sight,” answered his companion, in a slightly disinterested manner.

  “No doubt interesting to you, Senator, but, as a demonstration, it is useless and hopeless. The poor devils! They cannot help themselves and they will allow no one to help them. Let’s go down on the curb and watch them. Have you ever seen the group close at hand?”

  “Not as a group. Of course, I have employed individual members of the class when necessary, but they are so conscious of their superiority that they are unpleasant employees. Taking them as a group, I fancy that I am not at all interested in them. What is their complaint?”

  “They claim that they want a chance to earn an honest living. Of course, that is all bluff. There is a lot of work for everyone, provided he really wants to work. It would pay you to look into the matter. Let us go down to the street and watch them. As a Senator, you may have to deal with the question soon in Congress. It really is becoming a national question—perhaps, a national menace.”

  The two men took the elevator and were soon on the street. Only a few feet away, amid the traffic, they saw the disintegrated column of marchers, tired, worried, soiled with dust and the sweat of fatigue. Their banners and signs told the story of their despair.

  “GIVE US WORK!”

  “HELP US MAKE AN HONEST LIVING!”

  “EDUCATED MEN DEMAND ADEQUATE INCOMES!”

  “WHITE COLLARS, AS WELL AS COLORED ONES, NEED FOOD!”

  The two business men looked at the army of unemployed and then at each other.

  “What do you think of it, Hubler?” finally inquired Senator Whitesell. “I have been so busy with my construction work on the Colorado River that I have paid but little attention to conditions in the larger cities. I have not even been attending to my senatorial duties as I should.”

  “Suppose you come over to the Club and let me tell you about it,” suggested Jacob Hubler.

  The traffic was so thick and noisy that for a few minutes it was only possible to exchange monosyllables, but once inside the quiet of the Engineers’ Club, in the luxurious arm chairs provided for the relaxation of the tired business men, Hubler lit his cigar, passed one to his friend, made himself comfortable and started in with the explanation of the strange parade of the White Collar men.

  “There have been a number of curious parades in history, but this one is probably unique for any age or country. There have been demonstrations of slaves, political groups, and muscle workers. Victorious armies have passed down the Appian Way in Rome and up Fifth Avenue. Hundreds of thousands have showered Caesar with roses and Lindbergh with confetti. But a parade of White Collars is absolutely new.

  “Of course, you are acquainted with the educational programme that has always been considered so important to the life of our nation. Early in our history the average man could only read and write, while the unusual man, on account of his financial and social position, was capable of receiving a collegiate education. Later on, small colleges multiplied, till every city boasted of one or more, and every town had its academy. No community was satisfied till it possessed a center of higher learning. These schools had to have pupils to justify their existence. There were useless classrooms and wasted professors without a constant supply of pupils. Consequently, the young people were urged to acquire an education, and if they could not finance it, they were aided in every way.

  “Gradually, many of the smaller colleges were merged into larger ones. The remaining universities became gigantic in the scope of their effort to uplift the individual. At first, a college of five thousand pupils was exceptional, but later on some universities had fifty and even sixty thousand pupils. Education became synonymous with culture; a college degree was supposed to be the necessary pass into the higher levels of society. Instead of asking a man what he could do or what he was worth, the questions of choice were: ‘What is your Alma Mater?’ or ‘What Fraternity did you make?’

  “Gradually, the rich men of the country became interested. The original endowments were thousands and hundreds of thousands. Later on, millions of dollars were given. Men like Hiram Smith of Universal Utilities thought nothing of giving a quarter billion dollars at one time to one university. We have several such endowments rig
ht here in this city.

  “What was the result? Naturally, everybody who wanted a higher education got it; at least, everybody received all that he was able to absorb. Goodness knows it was little enough in many cases, because there seems to be no real relation between education and intelligence, and a real clever man once told me that nineteen-twentieths of what we know is gained outside of the class room. The colleges and universities of our country turned out, with almost machine-like regularity and precision, lawyers, dentists, journalists, surgeons, architects, engineers of every type, and any number of professors. Tens of thousands were added each year to all the so-called learned professions.

  “These men and women were trained to plead legal cases, fill teeth, write editorials, cut out tumors and plan buildings. All this, and many other forms of highly technical work, they became proficient in, but none of them was taught to make an adequate living.

  “Meantime, while the opportunity for employment of those skilled in such mental labor increased, it did not increase in proportion to the number trained in these various fields. Scientific management made it possible for one doctor, or one lawyer, to serve a far larger clientele than he was formerly able to do. Ford showed the world how to speed up mass production in machinery, and the same principle was used in every line of the higher specialties. A man used to have a private lawyer or a family doctor. Now, he employs a corporation for legal matters and a clinic for his physical ills. I went to one of those clinics last year. They see over twelve hundred new patients a day. In two days, exactly eleven hours of actual time, I was examined by twenty-seven doctors, each a specialist in his line. I had everything examined except my soul, was told that there was nothing wrong with me, and was charged ten thousand dollars. They knew my Dun and Bradstreet rating before they started with the examination. Just think of twelve hundred a day going through a medical mill like that! And think of the number of old-fashioned doctors who could be supported by that many patients! It is the same way with all the learned profession. Standardization, specialization and efficiency make it possible for every educated man to serve ten-fold as many as he used to—and yet, there are ten times as many highly educated persons to do the work as there were twenty-five years ago. Ten years ago there was a suspicion that the importance of higher education had been overstressed. Five years ago the economists were frankly worried. We have had these parades in New York and in all of our large cities for the last two years.