“He’s not even a scientist,” Anton Verloc said. He glanced dismissively around at the party to celebrate the opening of The Department of Scientific and Industrial Research. “He makes kitchen gadgets for bored housewives.” He sneered at Richard Arkwright, who was chatting animatedly with Lionel Castershire. Verloc felt Castershire had even less business being here.
“Richard Arkwright,” Harry Haworth leaned in and said to Verloc in a lowered tone, “is the smartest person in this room.” That was saying something, considering the entirety of Wellington Wells’ scientific community was in attendance. Haworth had brought Verloc to this party to introduce him to those who would become his colleagues. Scientific endeavors in Wellington Wells were often a collaborative effort, so it would behoove the boy to do some networking.
“He doesn’t even have a doctorate,” Verloc said, rolling his eyes. Haworth watched in annoyance as they landed on the starry-eyed shop girl Stewart Adams had crassly brought instead of his wife, Fiona. He did note with reluctant approval that the girl had the presence of mind to forgo flirting with Dr. Faraday and engage his wife in conversation instead.
“No, he does not,” Haworth said patiently. “What he does have is the good sense to leave the future in the future instead of promising it tomorrow like the rest of us do.”
Discussion