“You can only ask, my dear boy, because you do not yet see what a thing the battleship really is--much more than half a sham. The march of invention is from the complex to the simple: for simplicity is strength; but to the moment when I began to construct, naval construction had not followed this law: for from the old smooth-bores, aimed with tackle and quoin, to the present regime of electric wires, you have had a continual advance in complexity--always within the same little arc of thought--till now the most complex of things is a battleship; and if you ask me which is the weaker, a battleship or a watch, I answer a battleship--_weak_ meaning liability to the injuries which they were built to resist. In such a case as that of the _Maine_, sunk at Havana, one might fancy that the task of naval constructors is to turn out a thing to sink with a minimum of trouble; and you remember the _Camperdown_ and _Victoria_, how, playing about together, one happened to touch the other, when down plunged that other. These ships are a compromise between three _motifs_--speed, resisting attack, and attacking: and the first is so antagonistic to the second, and also to the third, that the net result is almost a Nonentity, or No-Thing. Nothing, in fact, could be more _queer_, unfounded, than these ships; and the future will look back upon them with pity. Hence the simple islands, following the law: and don't think t hat their efficacy is a thing riskier than arithmetic itself.” “Good”, went Loveday. “But, Richard--captain your islands with decent men”. “You have something on your mind: what is it?” “It is--delicate. Have I your permission to speak?” “Why, John, yes”. “Well then--is O'Hara to be an Admiral?” “Old Pat? Hardly, I think. He may. But no--I don't think. Poor old talky-talky. He has worked hard for us, John: and his fund of experience, in one way and another, has been invaluable. Well, I don't know: I have had the idea, but I don't suppose that, in reality--Still, I am fond of him, John. Such a tongue, and such a versatile brain, is he! He was my comfort for many a sombre day in prison--” Listening near with rancid grin behind some greenery, O'Hara kept nodding emphatic assents of satisfaction to Hogarth's praise. “But, stop”, said Loveday: “do you know why he was in prison?” “He was innocent”. “Of what?” “Of stealing some diamonds entrusted him by the Pope”. “Bah! he lies. His trial was a _cause célèbre_, and hence the false name he gave me at first: the moment I heard you say 'O'Hara' I knew the man. He had committed an assault upon a lady in a train--” “Beast that he is”, went Hogarth, while O'Hara's eyes started from his head: “and liar, too, it seems. Ha!--he gave me the most circumstantial story. Why didn't you tell me this before?” “It was delicate--” “Beast that he is. Yet how complex is character! the man's tenderness for his Church is so charming--”