We've done
pretty well in the air, and now we're going underground. And when we get
through, this old rock of Manhattan will be such a network of tunnels
there'll be a hole waiting at every corner to take you wherever you want to
go. Speed? We don't even know what it means!"
And again Bruce "let her out" a bit. It was _quite_ a bit. Roger grabbed
his hat with one hand and the side of the car with the other.
"They'll look back on a mile a minute," said Bruce, "as we look back on
stage coach days! And in the rush hour there'll be a rush that'll make you
think of pneumatic tubes! Not a sound nor a quiver--_just pure speed!_
Shooting people home at night at a couple of hundred miles an hour! The
city will be as big as that! And there won't be any accidents and there
won't be any smoke. Instead of coal they'll use the sun! And, my God, man,
the boulevards--and parks and places for the kids! The way they'll use the
River--and the ocean and the Sound! The Catskills will be Central Park!
Sounds funny, don't it--but it's true. I've studied it out from A to Z.
This town is choking itself to death simply because we're so damn slow! We
don't know how to spread ourselves! All this city needs is speed!"
"Bruce," said Roger anxiously, "just go a bit easy on that gas. The fact
is, it was a great mistake for me to eat those crabs to-night."
Bruce slowed down compassionately, and soon they turned and started home.
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