“But couldn’t aerial navies from the Continent come to our shores?”
“Of course they can, but not by the novel style of flying which is talked about. No, Miss Dove, if men or machines can fly, the inventors of them need not wait for war to make their fortunes. Merchants and capitalists would find it to their advantage to handsomely remunerate such persons to use their wings for mercantile and other purposes—of course men will embark in Quixotic performances.”
“But if they do not succeed,” said the squire, “it must heavily handicap and tax poor inventors to pay for their schemes.”
“Yes, indeed, they always did pay for them; but I daresay you are aware, squire, that syndicates and benevolent capitalists might be found to assist bold and incautious financiers to float them.”
“What do you say, my dear sir?” asked the squire. “You are awakening—that is, enlightening us surprisingly; but do let us fill up our glasses—one almost requires a stimulant to face even the thought of what may be going on in these times. I only heard yesterday of a suicidal attempt at flying that came off at Haywards Heath by some foreigners.”
“Then,” said Edith Dove, “you do not believe in all these wonderful modern experiments?”
“Not in some of them. A few scientific inventors of recent date may be sanguine, clever and well-intentioned men, but not all of them, I fear.”
“How pleased, Edith,” said her father, “Mr Falcon would be to take part in these discussions. What a pity he is not here!”
“The doctor thought he might arrive later, papa, and so he may be here yet.”
“Our friend Falcon,” said the squire, “has been a great traveller, and represents a firm of shipowners in London and Sydney.”