The Eighth Day Read Online Free PDF

gloomy company and subdued in the midst of elation.) Finally the crowd dispersed; about twenty lingered under the great clock, seeking some further expression of an emotion that was giving place to reflection and questioning. They went into the Tavern in order—as they said—to drink something hot. The young girls were sent to their homes. The group entered the bar wherein no woman had ever been admitted and presumably would not be admitted again for a hundred years. They went into the back room. Mugs of hot milk, hot grog, and “Sally Croker” (spiced crabapples floating in hot cider) were passed around by the great Mr. Sorbey himself.
    Breckenridge Lansing—always at his best in company, the perfect host, and, as resident manager of the mines, the first citizen in town—spoke up for the company.
    â€œDr. Gillies, what will the new century be like?”
    The ladies murmured, “Yes! . . . ? Yes! . . . ? Tell us what you think.” The men cleared their throats.
    Dr. Gillies made no deprecatory noises, but began:
    â€œNature never sleeps. The process of life never stands still. The creation has not come to an end. The Bible says that God created man on the sixth day and rested, but each of those days was many millions of years long. That day of rest must have been a short one. Man is not an end but a beginning. We are at the beginning of the second week. We are children of the eighth day.”
    He described the earth before the appearance of life—millions of years of steam arising from the boiling waters . . . ? The noise, the terrible winds, the waves . . . ? the noise. Then tiny floating organisms choking the seas. Passive . . . ? then, here and there, one and other, acquiring the ability to propel themselves toward light, toward food. A nervous system began to take shape in the Pre-Cambrian age; fins and feet began to afford sufficient strength to walk on dry land in the Upper Devonian; blood grew warmer in the Mesozoic.
    It was somewhere in the Mesozoic age that Mr. Goodhue, Coaltown’s banker, exchanged an outraged glance with his wife. They rose and left the room, head high, gazing straight before them. Evolution! Godless evolution! Dr. Gillies went on. Having divided the plants from the animals he sent them off on their long journeys. The birds and fishes, after some hesitation, parted company. The insects multiplied. The arrival of the mammals and that breathtaking moment when they stood on their rear feet releasing their front feet for a varied activity.
    â€œLife! Why life? What for? To what end? Something came out of the ooze. Where was it going?”
    He paused. His gaze rested with such inquiry on the boys that they felt impelled to answer. They murmured. “To man.”
    â€œYes,” said Dr. Gillies, “to all kinds of men.”
    A pained uneasiness had descended on the company. Breckenridge Lansing, an experienced chairman, again spoke up for the group. “You haven’t answered our question, Dr. Gillies.”
    â€œI have laid down the ground plan for my answer to your question. In this new century we shall be able to see that mankind is entering a new stage of development—the Man of the Eighth Day.”
    Dr. Gillies was lying for all he was worth. He had no doubt that the coming century would be too direful to contemplate—that is to say, like all the other centuries.
    Dr. Gillies was the only member of the group to have felt no elation. He had had no part in the congratulations and embraces. At a quarter before twelve he had slipped into the Tavern and paid a call on old Mrs. Billings, his long-time patient. His soul (a word he used only in jest) was filled with bitterness. Twenty-three months ago his son had died in a sledding accident at Williams College in Massachusetts—Hector Gillies who should be entering tonight into the twentieth century—his other self, his extended self, his lengthened