“That is just my weak point,” he answered. “But that will be so very small!”
“Yes; but enough to deprive the top of PERPETUAL motion.”
“But suppose I could get over that difficulty, would the contrivance have a right to the name of a perpetual motion? For you observe that the steam-engine below would not be the cause of the motion. That comes from above, here, and is withdrawn, finally withdrawn.”
“I understand perfectly,” I answered. “At least, I think I do. But I return the question to you: Is a motion which, although not caused, is ENABLED by another motion, worthy of the name of a perpetual motion; seeing the perpetuity of motion has not to do merely with time, but with the indwelling of self-generative power—renewing itself constantly with the process of exhaustion?”
He threw down his file on the bench.
“I fear you are right,” he said. “But you will allow it would have made a very pretty machine.”
“Pretty, I will allow,” I answered, “as distinguished from beautiful. For I can never dissociate beauty from use.”
“You say that! with all the poetic things you say in your sermons! For I am a sharp listener, and none the less such that you do not see me. I have a loophole for seeing you. And I flatter myself, therefore, I am the only person in the congregation on a level with you in respect of balancing advantages. I cannot contradict you, and you cannot address me.”
“Do you mean, then, that whatever is poetical is useless?” I asked.
“Do you assert that whatever is useful is beautiful?” he retorted.