“My dear sir,” said Lord Westland, blandly, “there may be something in what you say; but we might as well try to confine the waves of the sea, as a certain king did, as to keep back science. Science, admiral, must have her way.”
“Let’erhav’erway,” cried the old man, “down to the bottom if sheshamind. One good seamansh worth more ’ana shipload o’ph’losophers. Let’emman’erownships; let’em man their own ships. Crew o’ph’losophers ’shtead o’seamen. Bust their boilers’s often ’shtheylike and devil a harm.”
“He says the new ships should have crews of philosophers,” said Miss Trevor, tranquilly, putting up her hand to silence the anxious “I did not catch your last remark,” to which Lord Westland was about to give utterance. The peer shook his indulgent head.
“My dear admiral, philosophers, though it may please you and me, who are old-fashioned, to rail at them, are rapidly becoming the masters of the world.”
“Mashters-o-fiddlshticks,” said the old sailor. “Put’emdown the d——d ratholes, shee how theylikeit’emshelves. Old coalmines under water, call that a ship! None o’ God’s air, noneoGod’s light—all machines an’gasburnersh. Smash ’erownconsortsh—run every thin’ down—’chept enemish!” he sputtered forth triumphantly, with a laugh of angry triumph in his own argument.
“He says they run everything down, except the enemy,” said Miss Trevor. “I should like myself to know why there are so many collisions nowadays. My father says it is all science and boilers. Why is it, Lord Westland?” And she put up that ear-trumpet, of which everybody was afraid, for her noble neighbour’s use.
“Did you hear that last piece of news about the Markhams?” said Lady Westland. “All off at a moment’s notice, the very day they were expected here. They really ought to have waited and showed themselves, and not given colour to all the stories that are about.”
“Are there stories about? I have not heard any. Markham only came home two days ago. Do you mean about the ministry? Is it supposed to be insecure?”
“Oh no,” cried Lady Westland, with an ineffable smile. “The ministry!—oh no, Mr. Stainforth; that is much too well secured with the best and most influential support. The opposition need not trouble themselves about that.”
Lady Westland looked at her husband with honest admiration. He was a consistent supporter of government—and standing, as he did, with his legs wide apart and his shoulders squared, anticipating with dread the necessity of speaking into the trumpet and preparing himself for the effort, he looked a very substantial prop.