plunged in darkness. It is safe enough now.
We feel our way through the big room into the adjoining workshop. There the foreman, with no less prescience, has pulled out a gramophone, turned on a "rag-time," and the girls (having more open space) are dancing a two-step. The darkness seems to be full of the drumming of innumerable feet, punctuated at intervals by little nervous shouts and trills of laughter.
We reach the lift and are taken on to the flat roof of the factory. It is pitch dark up there. The night is still misty and dank. Not a sign of anything on the earth or in the sky. Clearly the authorities have given timely warning. While we wait for the Zeppelins which are approaching our metropolis, we can hear the deadened beat of the dancing below, and the sound of the singing that is creeping up the walls from the open windows.
The factory is a very lofty one, and
