lley-wire, and one could sit
comfortably in a spacious cab while speeding over the water. I should
think that would be exhilarating enough. Just imagine how fine it would
be on a stormy day to sit looking out of your cab-window far above the
surface of the raging and impotent sea, skipping along at electric
speed, and daring the waves to do their worst--that would be bliss."

"And so practical," growled the Bibliomaniac.

"Bliss rarely is practical," said the Idiot. "Bliss is a sort of mugwump
blessing--too full of the ideal and too barren in practicability."

"Well," said Mr. Whitechoker. "I don't know why we should say that
trolley-cars between New York and London never can be. If we had told
our grandfathers a hundred years ago that a cable for the transmission
of news could be laid under the sea, they would have laughed us to
scorn."

"That's true," said the School-master. "But we know more than our
grandfathers did."

"Well, rather," interrupted the Idiot. "My great-grandfather, who died
in 1799, had never even heard of Andrew Jackson, and if you had asked
him what he thought of Darwin, he'd have thought you were guying him."

"Respect for age, sir," retorted Mr. Pedagog, "restrains me from
characterizing your great-grandfather, if, as you intimate, he knew less
than you do. However, apart from the comparative lack of knowledge in
the Idiot's family, Mr. Whitechoker, you must remember that with the
advance of the centuries we have ourselves developed a certain amount of
brains--enough, at least, to understand that there is a limit even to
the possibilities of electricity. Now, when you say that just because
an Atlantic cable would have been regarded as an object of derision in
the eighteenth century, we should not deride one who suggests the
possibility of a marine trolley-road between London and New York in the
twentieth century, it appears to me that you are talking--er--talking--I
don't like to say nonsense to one of your cloth, but--"

"Through his hat is the idiom you are trying to recall, I think, Mr.
Pedagog," said the Idiot. "Mr. Whitechoker is talking through his hat is
what you mean to say?"

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Idiot," said the School-master; "but when I find
that I need your assistance in framing my conversation, I shall--er--I
shall give up talking. I mean to say that I do not think Mr. Whitechoker
can justify his conclusions, and talks without having given the subject
concerning which he