"Well, then," said I, "it's this way, dear James. . . . You behold seated opposite to you on the right of the fireplace, and smoking the beast of a brier pipe with the modesty of true genius, a Scientific Man--a Savant, shall I say?--of European reputation. It isn't quite European just yet: but it's going to be, which is better." "I always prophesied it," said Jimmy. "What's it going to be _for_?" "Listen," said I. "Having received (as you assure us) a liberal education, either at Eton or B.N.C., you probably made acquaintance with that beautiful poem by Dr. Isaac Watts beginning--" 'Let dogs delight to bark and bite-' "Continue the quotation, with brief notes on any obscurities." "Certainly," said Jimmy. 'Let dogs delight to bark and bite, 'Tis manners so to do--' "No, that sounds a bit off." 'Let dogs delight to bark and bite, For God hath made them so; Let bears and lions growl and fight, For 'tis their nature toe.' "Good boy!" said I. "Now that's where Dr. Watts--" "Don't interrupt," said Jimmy. "It isn't manners so to do, when I'm just getting into my stride--" 'But, children, you should never let Such angry passions rise: Your little hands were never made To tear each other's eyes . . .' "Please, I don't know any more." "Nor need you," I assured him, "for, according to Jack, it's completely out of date." "'M'yes!" Jimmy agreed. "But he won't get a European reputation by discovering _that_. They don't tear each other's eyes at the N.S.C., even--it's against the rules. Come and see for yourself, Professor." "Angry passions," I went on patiently; "envy, hatred, and malice-- especially hatred--are Jack's special lay; the Grand Research we call it. Take simple anger, for instance. What is it makes a man angry?" "Lots of things. . . . Being called a liar, for one." Foe took the mischief in the boy's eye, and let out a laugh. "I can't be angry with _you_, anyway. Go on, Roddy. You're doing it quite well so far, though I'm almost too sleepy to listen." "It isn't as simple as you think," I pursued seriously (but glad enough in my heart to have heard Jack laugh--he wasn't given to laughter at any time). "All sorts of things happen inside you; all sorts of mechanisms start working: nerves and muscles, of course, but even in the blood-vessels there's a change of the corpuscles as per order--you put an insult into the slot and they do the rest. The levers of the machine--the brakes, clutches and the rest are in the forebrain: that's where you change gear when you want to struggle with suppressed emotion, run her slow or let her all out: and that's what Jack means to do with us before he has finished. Does he want us to love or to hate?--He'll press a button, and we shall do the rest, automatically. He will call on a Foreign Minister or an ambassador and make or avert a European War. He will dictate--"