“Oh, Seccombe’s a hopeless crank,” said Godalming.
“Possibilities for whom, Mr. Seccombe?” asked Vemers. “For a barber like this Arkwright? Yes, he throve on steam, but what is that to us? Will steam grow corn?”
“Steam is an infamy,” stated a gentleman called Collinson.
“You do not agree, Seccombe? No, why should you? You own houses in London. Easy for you to play the philosopher. Those of us with land are beginning to watch the trading classes closely, and steam has the appearance of an ally to trade and enemy to us.”
“Then let the alliance be with us, Mr. Collinson,” said Seccombe. “Indeed, I am making no original suggestion. We have had the cases mentioned here of more than one man of our own order who—”
“Traitors! Outcasts!” cried Godalming.
“Or, perhaps, wise men, my lord. I do not know.”
“You don’t know if it is wise to sell your soul to the devil?”
“Personally,” said Mr. Seccombe, “I should regard that transaction as precarious, but not to the present point. There was mentioned the example of one Hepplestall.”
“You have heard of him—here?” Mr. Verners was astonished.