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Mary, and when her quiet, indolent nature had been deeply moved by the shock of the news of her motherā€™s peril, the aerophone had worked. Whereas now, when she had become a grown-up young lady, he did not understand her any longerā€”he, whose heart was wrapped up in his experiments, and who by nature feared the adult members of her sex, and shrank from them; when, too, her placid calm was no longer stirred, work it would not.

She laughed at his temper; then grew serious, and said:

ā€œDonā€™t get angry, Morris. After all, there are lots of things that you and I canā€™t understand, and it isnā€™t odd that you should have tumbled across one of them. If you think of it, nobody understands anything. They know that certain things happen, and how to make them happen; but they donā€™t know why they happen, or why, as in your case, when they ought to happen, they wonā€™t.ā€

ā€œIt is all very well for you to be philosophical,ā€ he answered, turning upon her; ā€œbut canā€™t you see, Mary, that the thing there is my lifeā€™s work? It is what I have given all my strength and all my brain to make, and if it fails in the endā€”why, then I fail too, once and forever. And I have made it talk. It talked perfectly between this place and Seaview, and now you stand there and tell me that it wonā€™t work any more because I donā€™t understand you. Then what am I to do?ā€

ā€œTry to understand me, if you think it worth while, which I donā€™t; or go on experimenting,ā€ she answered. ā€œTry to find some substance which is less exquisitely sensitive, something a little grosser, more in key with the material world; or to discover someone whom you do understand. Donā€™t lose heart; donā€™t be beaten after all these years.ā€

ā€œNo,ā€ he answered, ā€œI donā€™t unless I die,ā€ and he turned to go.

ā€œMorris,ā€ she said, in a softer voice, ā€œI am lazy, I know. Perhaps that is why I adore people who can work. So, although you donā€™t think anything of me, I will do my honest best to get into sympathy with you again; yes, and to help in any way I can. No; itā€™s not a joke. I would give a great deal to see the thing a success.ā€

ā€œWhy do you say I donā€™t think anything of you, Mary? Of course, it isnā€™t true. Besides, you are my cousin, and we have always been good friends since you were a little thing.ā€

She laughed. ā€œYes, and I suppose that as you had no brothers or sisters they taught you to pray for your cousin, didnā€™t they? Oh, I know all about it. It is my unfortunate sex that is to blame; while I was a mere tom-boy it was different. No one can serve two masters, can they? You have chosen to serve a machine that wonā€™t go, and I daresay that you are wise. Yes, I think that it is the better partā€”until you find someone that will make it goā€”and then you would adore herā€”by aerophone!ā€





CHAPTER II THE COLONEL AND SOME REFLECTIONS

Presently Morris heard a step upon the lawn, and turned to see his father sauntering towards him. Colonel Monk, C.B., was an elderly man, over sixty indeed, but still of an upright and soldierly bearing. His record was rather distinguished. In his youth he had served in the Crimea, and in due course was promoted to the command of a regiment of Guards. After this, certain diplomatic abilities caused him to be sent to one of the foreign capitals as military attache, and in reward of this service, on retiring, he was created a Companion of the Bath. In appearance he was handsome also; in fact, much better looking than his son, with his iron-grey hair, his clear-cut features, somewhat marred in effect by a certain shiftiness of the mouth, and his large dark eyes. Morris had those dark eyes alsoā€”they redeemed his face from plainness, for otherwise it showed no beauty, the features being too irregular, the brow too prominent, and the mouth too large. Yet it could boast what, in the case of a man at any rate, is better than beautyā€”spirituality, and a certain sympathetic charm. It was not the face which was so attractive, but rather the intelligence, the personality that shone through it, as the light shines through the horn panes of some homely, massive lantern. Speculative eyes of the sort that seem to search horizons and gather knowledge there, but shrink from the faces of women; a head of brown hair, short cut but untidy, an athletic, manlike form to which, bizarrely enough, a slight stoop, the stoop of a student, seemed to give distinction, and hands slender and shapely as those of an Easternā€”such were the characteristics of Morris Monk, or at least those of them that the observer was apt to notice.

ā€œHullo! Morris, are you star-gazing there?ā€ said Colonel Monk, with a yawn. ā€œI suppose that I must have fallen asleep after dinnerā€”that comes of stopping too long at once in the country and drinking port. I notice you never touch it, and a good thing, too. There, my cigar is out. Nowā€™s the time for that new electric lighter of yours which I can never make work.ā€

Morris fumbled in his pocket and produced the lighter. Then he said:

ā€œI am sorry, father; but I believe I forgot to charge it.ā€

ā€œAh! thatā€™s just like you, if you will forgive my saying so. You take any amount of trouble to invent and perfect a thing, but when it comes to making use of it, then you forget,ā€ and with a little gesture of impatience the Colonel turned aside to light a match from a box which he had found in the pocket of his cape.

ā€œI am sorry,ā€ said Morris, with a sigh, ā€œbut I am afraid it is true. When oneā€™s mind is very fully occupied with one thingā€”ā€”ā€ and he broke off.

ā€œAh! thatā€™s it, Morris, thatā€™s it,ā€ said the Colonel, seating himself upon a garden chair; ā€œthis hobby-horse of yours is carrying youā€”to the devil, and your family with you. I donā€™t want to be rough, but it is time that I spoke plain. Letā€™s see, how long is it since you left the London firm?ā€

ā€œNine years this autumn,ā€ answered Morris, setting his mouth a little, for he knew what was coming. The port drunk after claret had upset his fatherā€™s digestion and ruffled his temper. This meant that to himā€”Morrisā€”Fate had appointed a lecture.

ā€œNine years, nine wasted years, idled and dreamt away in a village upon the eastern coast. It is a large slice out of a manā€™s life, my boy. By the time that I was your age I had done a good deal,ā€ said his father, meditatively. When he meant to be disagreeable it was the Colonelā€™s custom to become reflective.

ā€œI canā€™t admit that,ā€ answered Morris, in his light, quick voiceā€”ā€œI mean I canā€™t admit that my time has either been idled away or wasted. On the contrary, father, I have worked very hard, as I did at college, and as I have always done, with results which, without boasting, I may fairly call gloriousā€”yes, gloriousā€”for when they are perfected they will change the methods of communication throughout the whole world.ā€ As he spoke, forgetting the sharp vexation of the moment, his face was irradiated with lightā€”like some evening cloud on which the sun strikes suddenly.

Watching him out of the corner of his eye, even in that low moonlight, his father saw those fires of enthusiasm shine and die upon his sonā€™s face, and the sight vexed him. Enthusiasm, as he conceived, perhaps with justice, had been the ruin of Morris. Ceasing to be reflective, his tone became cruel.

ā€œDo you really think, Morris, that the world wishes to have its methods of communication revolutionised? Arenā€™t there enough telephones and phonograms and aerial telegraphs already? It seems to me that you merely wish to add a new terror to existence. However, there is no need to pursue an academical discussion, since this wretched machine of yours, on which you have wasted so much time, appears to be a miserable failure.ā€

Now, to throw the non-success of his invention into the teeth of the inventor, especially when that inventor knows that it is successful really, although just at present it does not happen to work, is a very deadly insult. Few indeed could be deadlier, except, perhaps, that of the cruelty which can suggest to a woman that no man will ever look at her because of her plainness and lack of attraction; or the coarse taunt which, by shameless implication, unjustly accuses the soldier of cowardice, the diplomat of having betrayed the secrets of his country, or the lawyer of having sold his brief. All the more, therefore, was it to Morrisā€™s credit that he felt the lash sting without a show of temper.

ā€œI have tried to explain to you, father,ā€ he began, struggling to free his clear voice from the note of indignation.

ā€œOf course you have, Morris; donā€™t trouble yourself to repeat that long story. But even if you were successfulā€”which you are notā€”erā€”I cannot see the commercial use of this invention. As a scientific toy it may be very well, though, personally, I should prefer to leave it alone, since, if you go firing off your thoughts and words into space, how do you know who will answer them, or who will hear them?ā€

ā€œWell, father, as you understand all about it, it is no use my explaining any further. It is pretty late; I think I will be turning in.ā€

ā€œI had hoped,ā€ replied the Colonel, in an aggrieved voice, ā€œthat you might have been able to spare me a few minutesā€™ conversation. For some weeks I have been seeking an opportunity to talk to you; but somehow your arduous occupations never seem to leave you free for ordinary social intercourse.ā€

ā€œCertainly,ā€ replied Morris, ā€œthough I donā€™t quite know why you should say that. I am always about the place if you want me.ā€ But in his heart he groaned, guessing what was coming.

ā€œYes; but you are ever working at your chemicals and machinery in the old chapel; or reading those eternal books; or wandering about rapt in contemplation of the heavens; so that, in short, I seldom like to trouble you with my mundane but necessary affairs.ā€

Morris made no answer; he was a very dutiful son and humble-spirited. Those who pit their intelligences against the forces of Nature, and try to search out her secrets, become humble. He could not altogether respect his father; the gulf between them was too wide and deep. But even at his present age of three and thirty he considered it a duty to submit himself to him and his vagaries. Outside of other reasons, his mother had prayed him to do so almost with her last breath, and, living or dead, Morris loved his mother.

ā€œPerhaps you are not aware,ā€ went on Colonel Monk, after a solemn pause, ā€œthat the affairs of this property are approaching a crisis.ā€

ā€œI know something, but no details,ā€ answered Morris. ā€œI have not liked to interfere,ā€ he added apologetically.

ā€œAnd I have not not liked to trouble you with such sordid matters,ā€ rejoined his parent, with sarcasm. ā€œI presume, however, that you are acquainted with the main facts. I succeeded to this estate encumbered with a mortgage, created by your grandfather, an extravagant and unbusiness-like man. That mortgage I looked to your motherā€™s fortune to pay off, but other calls made this impossible. For instance, the sea-wall here had to be built if the Abbey was to be saved, and half a mile of sea-walling costs something. Also very extensive repairs to the house were necessary, and I was forced to take three farms in hand when I retired from the army fifteen years ago. This has involved a net loss of about ten

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