Wolfgang went home. All his old hatred of his brother flamed up anew. First Christian had been the radiant one who threw all others in the shade; now he threatened to bring disgrace and danger into one’s most intimate circles. The hatred almost choked him. II The hours of consultations and interviews were drawing to an end. The features of Privy Councillor Wahnschaffe showed weariness. The last person who had left him had been a Japanese, a councillor of the ministry of war at Tokio. One of the directors had been present at the conference, which had been important and of far-reaching political implications. He was about to go when Wahnschaffe called him back by a gesture. “Have you selected an engineer to go to Glasgow?” he asked. He avoided looking at the man’s face. What annoyed him in the men around him was a certain expression of greed after power, possession, and success, which they wore like a mental uniform. He saw almost no other expression any more. The director mentioned a name. Herr Wahnschaffe nodded. “It is a curious thing about the English,” he said. “They are gradually becoming wholly dependent on us. Not only do they no longer manufacture machines of this type, but we have to send an expert to set them up and explain their workings. Who would have thought that possible ten years ago?” “They frankly admit their inferiority in this respect,” the director answered. “One of the gentlemen from Birmingham, whom we took through the works recently, expressed his utter amazement at out resistless progress. He said it was phenomenal. I gave him the most modest reason I could think of. I explained that we didn’t have the English institution of the weekend, and this added five to six hours a week to our productive activity.” “And did that explanation satisfy him?” “He asked: ‘Do you really think that accounts for your getting ahead of us?’ I said that the time amounted to several thousand hours a year in the activity of a whole nation. He shook his head and said that we were extremely well-informed and industrious, but that, closely looked upon, our competition was unfair.” The Privy Councillor shrugged his shoulders. “It is always their last word--unfair. I do not know their meaning. In what way are they fairer than ourselves? But they use the word as a last resort.” “They haven’t much good-will toward us,” said the director. “No. I regret it; but it is true that they have not.” He nodded to the director, who bowed and left the room. Herr Wahnschaffe leaned back in his chair, glanced wearily at the documents scattered over his huge desk, and covered his eyes with his pale hand. It was his way of resting and of collecting his thoughts. Then he pressed one of the numerous electric buttons on the edge of the desk. A clerk entered. “Is there any one else?” The clerk handed him a card, and said: “This gentleman is from Berlin, and says he has an appointment with you, sir.”