Sir Andrew had listened patiently. His had been the grave attitude of a man impressed beyond mere words of agreement or understanding. His reading glasses had been thrust aside. His grey head was inclined towards his clasped hands, and his broad chin found support upon them. His whole poise was of the closest attention.
"It's like a—fairy-tale," he said at last as Ruxton's story came to an end, and the deep, calm tones of his voice died out.
"Or a—nightmare?"
"Ye-es."
Sir Andrew swung round in his ample library chair and faced his desk. It was the movement of a man stirred out of his customary calm.
Ruxton watched his father closely from his seat on the settle under the mullioned window. He was seeking the effect of his story upon a man whom he knew to be typically British at heart. He had seen it all, had experienced it all. His father had not.
Presently Sir Andrew faced him again.
"Now your—purpose," he demanded, with the air of crisp business. "You would set out to revolutionize our mercantile marine by the adoption of this—submersible."
"As rapidly as is compatible with commercial interests."
"You mean that we are to take the entire risk of the success of this new departure?"