Sir Andrew pierced and lit a cigar.
"We mustn't ridicule them, though," he said, in his hearty Yorkshire way. "We've laughed at 'em too often in the past. It's a laugh which cost our country a couple of thousand millions, and a world-wide suffering which mankind will never forget." Then his manner lightened. "Henceforth the inventor must be to us a rare and precious orchid. We must spend hundreds of thousands of pounds on him, the same as I spend thousands on my orchid houses. I count myself well repaid if I succeed in raising one single perfect bloom on some rare plant. That is, if my rivals have failed with the same plant. The inventor is the orchid of modern civilization, and the perfect blooms he produces are very, very precious and—rare."
"You are thinking of those diabolical engines of destruction which were prepared for this war."
Ruxton helped himself to a cigar.
"On the contrary, I am thinking of the defence, not the offence, of this old country of ours."
The younger man nodded as he lit his cigar.
"That is it. We must prepare—prepare. We have only a breathing space for it."
"There must be no more slumbering."
"And no more sacrificing the country to self-seeking demagogues."
"Yes, and no more slavery to Party prejudices, as antique as the timbers of this house."