millions of bombs of the same size and energy as used in the
trenches. One's mind stands aghast at the thought of what could be
possible if such power were used for destructive purposes; a single
aeroplane could carry sufficient to annihilate a whole army, or lay
the biggest city in ruins with the death of all its inhabitants."
The writer of the book in question had stated that, so far, no means
had been found of conserving and concentrating this tremendous force
for such uses,--but Gwent, looking at Roger Seaton, said within
himself--"He's got it!" And this impression, urging itself strongly
in on his brain, was sufficiently startling to give him a touch of
what is called "nerves."

After a considerably long pause he said, slowly--"Well, 'master of
the world' is a pretty tall order! Now, look here, Seaton--you're a
plain, straight man, and so am I, as much as my business will let
me. What are you after, anyway? What is your aim and end? You say
you don't want money--yet money is the chief goal of all men's
ambition. You don't care for fame, though you could have it for the
lifting of a finger, and I suppose you don't want love--"

Seaton laughed heartily, pushing back with a ruffling hand the thick
hair from his broad open brow.

"All three propositions are nil to me"--he said--"I suppose it is
because I can have them for the asking! And what satisfaction is
there in any one of them? A man only needs one dinner a day, a place
to sleep in and ordinary clothes to wear--very little money is
required for the actual necessaries of life--enough can be earned by
any day-labourer. As for fame--whosoever reads the life of even one
'famous' man will never be such a fool as to wish for the capricious