his calculations of his place upon the world. And I said
that whenever a man knew his place in this world, it
was always likely all would go well. Then I sat down.

Then dear George spoke,--simply, but very briefly.
He said he was a stranger to the Boston people, and that
those who knew him at all knew he was not a talking man.
He was a civil engineer, and his business was to
calculate and to build, and not to talk. But he had come
here to say that he had studied this new plan for the
longitude from the Top to the Bottom, and that he
believed in it through and through. There was his
opinion, if that was worth anything to anybody. If that
meeting resolved to go forward with the enterprise, or if
anybody proposed to, he should offer his services in any
capacity, and without any pay, for its success. If he
might only work as a bricklayer, he would work as a
bricklayer. For he believed, on his soul, that the
success of this enterprise promised more for mankind than
any enterprise which was ever likely to call for the
devotion of his life. "And to the good of mankind," he
said, very simply, "my life is devoted." Then he sat
down.

Then Brannan got up. Up to this time, excepting that
George had dropped this hint about bricklaying, nobody
had said a word about the Moon, far less hinted what it
was to be made of. So Ben had the whole to open. He did
it as if he had been talking to a bright boy of ten years
old. He made those people think that he respected