the colleges of invention cleared up several puzzling features of Energon that had baffled him during the preceding years.  With the introduction of the use of Energon the two-hour work-day was cut down almost to nothing.  As Goliah had predicted, work indeed became play.  And, so tremendous was man’s productive capacity, due to Energon and the rational social utilization of it, that the humblest citizen enjoyed leisure and time and opportunity for an immensely greater abundance of living than had the most favoured under the old anarchistic system.

Nobody had ever seen Goliah, and all peoples began to clamour for their saviour to appear.  While the world did not minimize his discovery of Energon, it was decided that greater than that was his wide social vision.  He was a superman, a scientific superman; and the curiosity of the world to see him had become wellnigh unbearable.  It was in 1941, after much hesitancy on his part, that he finally emerged from Palgrave Island.  He arrived on June 6 in San Francisco, and for the first time, since his retirement to Palgrave Island, the world looked upon his face.  And the world was disappointed.  Its imagination had been touched.  An heroic figure had been made out of Goliah.  He was the man, or the demi-god, rather, who had turned the planet over.  The deeds of Alexander, Caesar, Genghis Khan, and Napoleon were as the play of babes alongside his colossal achievements.

And ashore in San Francisco and through its streets stepped and rode a little old man, sixty-five years of age, well preserved, with a pink-and-white complexion and a bald spot on his head the size of an apple.  He was short-sighted and wore spectacles.  But when the spectacles were removed, his were quizzical blue eyes like a child’s, filled with mild wonder at the world.  Also his eyes had a way of twinkling, accompanied by a screwing up of the face, as if he laughed at the huge joke he had played upon the world, trapping it, in spite of itself, into happiness and laughter.

For a scientific superman and world tyrant, he had remarkable weaknesses.  He loved sweets, and was inordinately fond of salted almonds and salted pecans, especially of the latter.  He always carried a paper bag of them in his pocket, and he had a way of saying frequently that the chemism of his nature demanded such fare.  Perhaps his most astonishing failing was cats.  He had an ineradicable aversion to that domestic animal.  It will be remembered that he fainted dead away with sudden fright, while speaking in Brotherhood Palace, when the janitor’s cat walked out upon the stage and brushed against his legs.