In the
first place he knew that he was going west, and yet the morning
sun persisted in beating hotly into his face! That alone convinced
him that things had gone awry with the world. He could remember a
great convulsion of some sort, but just what it was he had no
clear idea! Evidently, though, it had been sufficient to change
the rotation of the earth. Yes, that was it; the earth was running
backward upon its axis; he could actually feel it whirling under
his feet. No wonder his journey seemed so long. He was laboring
over a gigantic treadmill, balancing like an equilibrist upon a
revolving sphere. Well, it was a simple matter to stop walking,
sit down, and allow himself to be spun backward around to the
place where Rosa was waiting. He pondered this idea for some time,
until its absurdity became apparent. Undoubtedly he must be going
out of his head; he saw that it was necessary to keep walking
until the back-spin of that treadmill brought Rosa to him.
But the time came when he could walk no farther. He tried
repeatedly and failed, and meanwhile the earth spun even more
rapidly, threatening to whirl him off into space. It was a
terrible sensation; he lay down and hugged the ground, clinging to
roots and sobbing weakly. Rosa, he knew, was just around the next
bend in the trail; he called to her, but she did not answer, and
he dared not attempt to creep forward because his grip was
failing.
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