The Shadow of Great Britain
Chapter 164 - 164 118 The Significance of the New Invention

164: Chapter 118: The Significance of the New Invention 164: Chapter 118: The Significance of the New Invention The young man named ‘William’ furrowed his brow upon hearing the poetry recited by Arthur and asked, “Why have I never heard of this poem?

Which Cambridge scholar wrote it?”

Arthur feigned surprise and retorted, “How can you not know such a famous verse?

It was created by a Cambridge poet with the surname Xu.”

Eld also chimed in from the side, “That’s right.

As a literature enthusiast, surely you haven’t missed this poem?

Just now, you claimed to have won the Cambridge poetry gold medal.

Does the medal truly denote only this level of knowledge?”

William was made somewhat insecure by their loud insistence, “Is…

is that so?”

Another young man named ‘Alfred’ hurried over to smooth things over, apologizing to Arthur and Eld, “Gentlemen, although I truly haven’t heard of this poem, judging by its content, the author must possess a remarkably high Romantic lyrical poetry creation level.”

When William heard that even his companion was complimenting the poem, he completely lost his confidence.

After all, although Alfred was very young, he was not only a poetry gold medalist from Cambridge University but also had a certain reputation in the entire poetry creation field of Great Britain.

If Alfred acknowledged it, then the poem must at least not be bad, to say the least.

But still not willing to admit defeat so easily, his youthful pride propped him up as he spoke firmly, “I admit the poem is okay, but it still falls short when compared to Alfred’s ‘Timbuktu’.”

“‘Timbuktu’?” As soon as Eld heard this name, he couldn’t help but frown.

Although he usually seemed out of touch, he actually did pay attention to the literary circles from time to time.

Eld asked, “Are you the Alfred Tennyson from Cambridge?”

Tennyson nodded with some embarrassment, “Have you read my poetry?”

Eld pursed his lips, “I happened to come across it.”

“Happened to come across it?” The young man named William was immediately irritated by this response, “What do you mean by that, sir?”

Eld shrugged nonchalantly with a provoking look, “Nothing much.

I just think that in literature, everyone has their own opinion.

I find ‘Timbuktu’ alright, but that’s about it.

In some ways, I think it doesn’t even capture the emotions as well as the one we just heard…

uh…

Arthur, what was the name of that poem again?”

Arthur glanced at the lad, not wanting to answer, but quickly realized Eld was making faces at him.

Seeing his attitude, it was clear he was determined to have a showdown with these two Cambridge youths today.

Arthur sighed, “The poem is called ‘Canonbridge’.”

“Right, exactly, ‘Canonbridge’!

Speaking from the standpoint of a serious and earnest literary critic, I think ‘Timbuktu’ is not as good as ‘Canonbridge’!”

William, infuriated by Eld’s challenging tone, pressed, “A literary critic?

May I ask your esteemed name and the literary works you have produced?”

Eld responded to this question, “I am Eld Carter, a professional critic, and I disdain crafting works.”

William was so amused by his reply that he laughed, “Lad, so you’ve written nothing and yet you sit here questioning Alfred’s poetic abilities?”

Eld seized the opportunity to counterask, “And what about you?

Who might you be, and what works do you have in the literary field?”

“Me?” William initially bristled with indignation, but when Eld put him on the spot, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and after struggling for a moment, he finally said, “My name is William Thackeray.

I’m fond of literature and have written some things, but they’re not very famous…

that’s all…”

Eld, sensing a chance for victory, taunted excessively, “So you too are an unknown minor figure?

If you believe commenting on poetry requires status and works first, then doesn’t that mean your opinion is similarly insignificant?”

William Thackeray, wanting to retort but unable to find the words, clenched his fists tighter and tighter and then, with a loud bang, he actually shoved open the shop’s door and dashed out without looking back.

Seeing this, Tennyson quickly offered his apologies to Arthur and Eld, “I’m sorry, gentlemen.

My friend has a somewhat complicated family situation, which leads to his somewhat extreme personality.

Please don’t take it to heart; he really is a good person usually.”

With that, he too neglected the task of selecting an instrument for his speech and hurried out after him, “William!

Wait for me!”

Eld, watching them leave, couldn’t help but hum smugly, “Look at that, the education from Cambridge.”

But when he received no reply from Arthur after waiting for a while, he turned around only to find Arthur thoughtfully stroking his chin and staring at the backs of the two departing young men.

Eld nudged Arthur, asking, “What are you thinking about?”

Arthur pursed his lips, glanced at his friend and spoke, “Eld, I want to congratulate you.”

“Congratulate me?” Eld grinned broadly and replied, “It’s nothing major.

I just bested a guy from Cambridge is all.”

“No, that’s not what I mean by congratulations.”

Arthur continued, “Offending France’s Alexander Dumas was already enough to make you famous throughout history, and now there’s Britain’s William Thackeray as well.

I can’t even begin to imagine how many literary classics your name will appear in far into the future.

Perhaps you’ll even become a universal template for villains.”

Oh, and I almost forgot, there’s Charles too.

Perhaps in his books, you’ll have to be placed next to illustrations of monkeys.

First the monkey, then you.”

Eld responded with disbelief written all over his face, “Arthur, you just love to scare me with this kind of talk every day.

You say Charles with the bald head will be someone important in the future, and so will the one with the hat.

Now even these two Cambridge graduates earn such high praise from you.

Is it that as long as someone meets you, they’re destined to be someone significant in the future?”

“Oh, how could that be?” Arthur smiled slightly and patted Eld’s shoulder, “Eld, isn’t there you as well?”

“Pfft!” Eld rolled his eyes, “Aren’t I the world’s villain template you mentioned?

How could I be obscure and nameless?”

“That’s true,” Arthur nodded, “Alexander has already worked you into his drafts, and Mr.

Thackeray will certainly not let you off easily either.”

“What?!

Alexander wrote about me?” Eld’s brows furrowed with dismay, “No wonder he wouldn’t let me see his manuscript!

I haven’t done anything to him; I’ve even been showing him around London these past few days!

And then he turns around and treats me like this?”

“Are you sure you didn’t do anything to him?” Arthur asked.

With a guilty conscience, Eld replied, “Well, maybe…

perhaps…

probably…

I mean, I said something that upset him…

but it wasn’t intentional.”

“What did you say?”

Eld started, “He couldn’t understand why so many Brits insist on crowding onto this little island when migrating to France or America might give them a better life.

I said I agreed with his view, and that it would actually benefit the world because every time someone emigrates from Britain to France or America, it slightly raises the average intelligence level of all three countries.”

Just as Eld finished speaking, he heard a low, suppressed laughter coming from beneath the shop’s counter.

At this sound, Arthur couldn’t help but raise a finger to his lips, “Shh, tread lightly.”

Arthur tiptoed to the counter, leaned forward slightly, and his smiling face met Charles Wheatstone’s, which was twisted into an expression more pained than laughter.

Wheatstone’s lips quivered as he clutched a black suitcase in his arms.

Judging by his posture, had Arthur arrived any later, Wheatstone might have vanished without a trace.

Arthur tipped his hat off and reached out his hand, greeting with a smile, “Mr.

Wheatstone, it’s been a while.”

Wheatstone’s shaky hand met Arthur’s, “Mr.

Hastings, can’t you just let me be?”

“Let you be?

No, what are you talking about?

I merely hope to earn your friendship and incidentally help you complete your new invention.”

Wheatstone sighed and leaned forward to extricate himself from behind the counter, but before he could, the suitcase he was holding emitted a faint sound—bursts of lightning and thunder—followed by a voice, familiar yet somewhat foreign.

“We are not thugs, nor henchmen, we are but former cobblers, blacksmiths, carpenters, coachmen, thatchers, assemblers, builders, bakers, as well as unemployed workers and landless peasants…

Today, we are to quell a demonstration launched by the working classes…”

Upon hearing the voice, Wheatstone, alarmed, raised his hands and stammered, “Mr.

Hastings, please listen to me, I didn’t mean to record this.

I only concocted this device yesterday and planned to deliver it to your estate, but as I was passing Wellington Arch…

If you’re displeased, I will destroy it right now.”

Arthur, observing Wheatstone’s rueful expression, stayed silent for a moment before tapping the suitcase lightly with his knuckles, “The sound quality might need some work, some parts aren’t very clear.

But still, Mr.

Wheatstone, I must congratulate you, you have created a remarkable new invention.”

Wheatstone looked puzzled, “You…

you don’t mind what has been recorded?”

“Mind it, of course I do.

However…”

“However?” Wheatstone jolted, fearful, “Then I’ll smash it right now!”

But as he was about to pound the suitcase into pieces, he discovered that Arthur had a firm grip on his arm.

Perplexed, Wheatstone questioned, “You?”

Arthur smiled and lifted him from beneath the counter, dusting him off, “No need to smash it, you may not understand, but perhaps capturing this speech is part of its purpose.”