Upon the day appointed, pursuant to the Chancery Decision, the Com?missioners of both Provinces, with Remembrancers and Correspondents, attended by a Thronglet of Children out of School, Sailors, Irishmen, and other Citizens exempt from or disobedient to the humorless rule of Clock-Time here, all go trooping down to Cedar Street and the House in Question, to establish its north Wall officially as the southernmost Point of Philadelphia. Fifteen Miles South of this, to the width of a Red Pubick Hair or R.P.H., will the West Line run.
The neighbors gather and mutter. "Well ye would think they'd wait a bit." "Eighty years, that isn't enough?" "Way this Town's growing, that South Point'll be across the street and down the Block before the Week's out." "Aye, moving even as we speak, hard to detain as a greas'd Pig." The Sector is borne in a padded Waggon, like some mechanickal Oda?lisque. Children jump, flapping their Arms in unconscious memory of when they had wings, to see inside. "Why not use the south Wall?" inquire several of them, far too 'pert for their sizes and ages. "The south Wall lies within private property," replies the Mayor's Assistant, "- - so, as the southernmost Publick Surface, the Parties have agreed upon this north Wall here, facing the Street."
Mr. Benjamin Loxley and his Crew have been busily erecting an Observatory in a vacant Piece, nearby, mid the mix'd rhythms of Ham?mers, each Framer at his own slightly different Tempo, and blurted phrases of songs. "Done many of these, Ben?”
"First one,— but don't tell anybody. Pretty straightforward, regular Joists and Scantlings, nothing too exotick, beyond this Cone Roof, trying to accommodate the tall one, spacing the Collar-beams so he won't thump his Head when he stands up,— tho' they'll be spending most of their time either sitting, or 'pon their Backs,—
"Hmm."
"Oh now, Clovis, your Bride is safe,— 'tis the only way for them to look straight up at the Stars that pass high overhead, these being the Best for the Latitude, as they say."
"Aye? and that great Telescope Tube thing ever pointing straight up? Heh, heh. Why's it got to be that big?"
"Don't break your rhythm, Hobab, I was quite enjoying it. The Gents wish to measure this quite closely,— find and keep the Latitude of their Line, to fractions of a second of Arc,— the Tube being the Radius of the Limb, see, a longer Tube will swing you a bigger Arc, longer Limb, longer Divisions, more room between the Markings, easier reading, nicer reading."
Mr. Chew appears to be making a Speech. "Shall we stop hammering till he's done?" Hobab inquires.
"Other Questions arise," Mr. Loxley gazing into the Distance. "Your notion of Futurity. Shall we continue to need Contracts with these peo?ple? How soon do you expect our Savior's Return may render them void? Considerations like that."
"I say whenever you can, give 'm all a Twenty-one-Hammer Salute," growls Clovis.
"I say take their Money, we don't have to love 'm," says Hobab.
"Or even marry 'm," adds young Elijah, the Swamper.
"Here are the Astronomers," Mr. Loxley notes, "perhaps you'd like to share some of your Analysis with them,— God grant ye clear Skies, Gentlemen," shouting over the newly percussive Activity of his Crew.
Dixon, removing his hat, tries out the Door-way, goes in, and lies supine upon the fresh-sawn Planking. Looking up, he sees Clovis, spread still as a Spider among the radial Rafters, watching him.
"Ask you something, Sir?...What thought have you given to getting that great Tube in the Door?”
"Oh, Mr. Bird calculated the whole thing, years ago, over in England.
All on Paper."
"Before there was ever a Scantling cut?"
"Before there was ever a Screw cut for the Instrument."
"I'll study on it. Thank ye, Sir." He tips a nonexistent Hat and
descends.
Mason looks in. "Will we get it in the Door, Dixon?"
Dixon stands up, carefully. "This is the very same Whimwham we had
at the Cape...?"
"No Trouble, Gents, we'll make ye a Door it shall go in," promises the
cheery Hobab.
"And out, too!" adds Elijah, from beneath a Load of Weatherboarding.
Dixon, as a Needle man anxious to obtain the latest Magnetick Intelli?gence of the Region that awaits them, Rumors reaching him of a Coffee-House frequented by those with an interest in the Magnetick, however it be manifested, shows up one night at The Flower-de-Luce, in Locust-Street. There, over the Evening, he will find, among the Clientele, Ger?man Enthusiasts, Quack Physicians, Land-Surveyors, Iron-Prospectors, and Watch-Thieves who know how to draw a Half-Hunter from one Pocket into another with the swiftness of a Lodestone clapping a Needle to its Influence. Strangers greet him as they might a Friend of ancient standing, whilst others, obviously seeking to shun his Company, glare whenever the Fumes of Tobacco allow them mutual Visibility. He has no idea what any of it is about. Gently tacking among the crowd, he arrives at the Bar. "Evening, Sir, what'll it be?"
"Half and Half please, Mount Kenya Double-A, with Java High?land,— perhaps a slug o' boil'd Milk as well...?"
"Planning on some elevated Discourse tonight?" jests the Coffee-Draper, swiftly and with little misdirection assembling Dixon's order. His Wig shines with a Nimbus in the strange secondary light from the Mirror behind him.
"This may seem an odd question, Sir,— but...have I been in here before?”
"Goodness no, yet how many times a day do I get ask'd that very thing.
Diff'rent Visitors with diff'rent Expectations. You strike me as the
English Tavern sort, and so you'll be noticing there's less Reserve 'round
here than you may be us'd to,— tho' any who seek a Quarrel may read?
ily find it, yea unto Dirks and Pistols, if that truly be your Preference
Howbeit,— make yourself at home, and good Luck in America."
Dixon beamingly adverts to the early Crowd, here, immediately notic?ing Dr. Franklin's friend Dolly, tho' she's certainly not as eye-catchingly rigg'd out tonight as he's seen her before,— nor can he immediately 'spy any of her Companions. Soberly consulting a large Map upon a Mahogany Desk-top, she holds a pair of Silver Dividers, multiply-jointed, tending to White Gold in the Candle-light,— and refers repeatedly to a Book of Numerickal Tables, now and then gracefully walking the Instrument up, down, and 'cross its paper Stage. When she looks up at last, he guesses from her eyes that she knows he's been there, all the time. "Why Mr. Dixon. Well met." Holding out her hand, and before Dixon can begin to incline to kiss it, shaking his, as men do. "These Data arriv'd but this Instant, by the German Packet,— the latest Declination Figures. Our easterly movement, in Pennsylvania, as it's been doing in latter Years, decelerates yet,— here, 'tis four point five minutes east," as Dixon atten?tively gazes over her shoulder, "when in the year 'sixty, 'twas four point six. If you head South, 'twill be three point nine at Baltimore."
"Were these measur'd Heights," he murmurs, "a very Precipice."
"What could be causing it, do you imagine?"
"Something underground, moving Westward...?"
"Hush." Her Eyes rapidly sweep the Vicinity. "No one ever speaks of that aloud here,— what sort of incautious Lad are you, exactly?"
"Why, the usual sort, I guess."
"Well." She pulls him into an alcove. "Rather took you for an All-Nations Lad, myself."
"Been there." The serving-girls at The All-Nations Coffee-House are costumed in whimsical versions of the native dress of each of the coffee-producing countries,— an Arabian girl, a Mexican girl, a Javanese girl, and according to Dolly, a Sumatran girl as well,— a constantly shifting Pageant of allegorical Coffees of the World, to some ways of thinking, in
 fact, quite educational, tho' attracting a core Clientele louder, beefier, and altogether less earnest than Dixon by now expects to find in Philadelphia.
"Mm-Hmm...? Sumatran, tha say...?"
"You seem about to swoon, Sir."
He takes a delighted breath. "Ah don't know how much of my story tha may already have heard," bringing his Chair closer, "- - or, to be fair to Mason, our story."
She shifts her own Chair away. "You and Mr. Mason are.. .quite close, I collect."
"Huz? We get along. This is our second Job together...? The Trick is all in stayin' out of each other's way, really."
"There are Arrangements in the World," she explains, "too sadly familiar to Women, wherein, as we say among us, with the one, you get the other as well,—
"Lass, Lass...? Eeh, what a Suggestion. We'd make thah' one only to
our Commissioners, I vouch  Unless, that is, tha're indicating some
interest in Mason?"
"Or asking 'pon Molly's behalf," her Eye-Lashes indulging in an extra Bat. "This gets very complicated, doesn't it?"
"Mason does need to be out............