Chapter 364: Early Human Chatroom

Chapter 361 – Early Human Chat Rooms

“Have there been any changes in London lately?”

“Well …… London is still the same London, nothing much has changed. There’s been a lot of news coming out of the Royal Society though.”

“The Royal Society is in the news?” Arthur asked as he lit his pipe, “It wouldn’t be that Mr. Faraday wasn’t awarded the Copley Medal, would it?”

“Of course not.” Tennyson smiled, “Mr. Faraday was elected unanimously.”

Arthur snickered, “Alfred, that’s not called news. It would be called news if Mr. Faraday lost the election. You probably don’t know what Mr. Faraday’s piece ‘On the Laws of Electromagnetic Induction’ means to the scientific community; it’s like the Duke of Wellington’s Battle of Waterloo. So, after he pulled out that paper, it was only a matter of time before Mr. Faraday took the Copley Medal, the Royal Society’s highest honor. Fortunately, the Royal Society’s Academic Board did not disappoint, and they finally got that one-choice question right.”

No sooner had Arthur’s words finished than Dumas, who was off to the side, lifted the curtains and pointed to a strange machine with insulated copper wires attached to it and asked, “Is this thing some kind of new invention? The wires attached to it are far too long, and where on earth is it intended to be connected from the second floor of the editorial office all the way to the far west side of Fleet Street?”

“Ah! You mean that thing!”

Tennyson sniffed and got up to explain, “Actually, I don’t know what this thing is for. When Wheatstone came to the editorial office to set up this machine, he just told me that he was planning to use it to measure the propagation speed of electric current. But since the speed of the current was just too fast, he had to stretch the wires longer and longer, and as far as I know, the other end of this machine was placed by him in a small house four kilometers away.”

Arthur couldn’t help but spit out when he heard this, “Couldn’t he have done this experiment in the Royal Society? How does he plan to count the propagation time when the experiment is split between two places so far away?”

Tennyson smiled back, “I asked him that question at first. But Mr. Wheatstone told me that he had also erected one of these facilities at the Royal Society. However, due to the narrowness of the Royal Society’s laboratories, he was worried that stacking wires on top of each other would trigger the phenomenon of electromagnetic induction, which in turn would make the experiment inaccurate. That was why he set up a new apparatus under outdoor conditions at his own expense. As to the question of the statistical propagation time, before the start of each experiment he would come and check the meter with me beforehand, and we would agree on a time to energize it, and when the point was reached, I would help him to energize it at this end.”

Dumas looked through the window and surveyed the wires at a glance, and the fat Frenchman, who occasionally cared for the latest scientific advances, could not help asking, “But isn’t the current instantaneous, as I remember? When electricity is energized on this side, there is an immediate reaction on the other side.”

Tennyson nodded, “The results of Mr. Whitestone’s final measurements are also basically in line with the concept that the speed of current is instantaneous. I originally advised him to give up, but Mr. Wheatstone never gave up. Recently I heard that he seems to have started thinking of using a completely new method to measure current speed again.”

“An entirely new method?” Dumas asked curiously, “How does he plan to get it done?”

Tennyson shook his head, “He introduced it to me, but I didn’t quite catch it. Anyway, it’s supposed to have something to do with rotating mirrors and the duration of the electric spark.”

While Dumas was immensely curious about the method of experimentation, Arthur’s focus was all on the machine.

He pointed at the apparatus and said, “Since our Mr. Wheatstone has already decided that this thing is useless, it would be better for him to send someone to remove this thing some day. Getting such a thing is really affecting the aesthetics of the editorial office’s outer wall too much.”

Hearing this, Tennyson hurriedly blocked, “This thing can’t be torn down.”

“Why?”

Tennyson stepped forward and pointed at the instrument’s dashboard with two small magnetic needles and spoke at Arthur, “What do you see here?”

Arthur leaned down to take a closer look, only to realize that the diamond shaped dashboard in front of him was actually carefully punched with 26 small holes, each of which was also thoughtfully labeled with the 26 letters of the alphabet from A to Z.

Seeing this thing, even though Arthur had never used it before, it didn’t affect his ability to guess the real function of this instrument.

Arthur’s eyebrows jumped, “Wired telegraph?”

Dumas also exclaimed, “Mr. Wheatstone has mentioned this thing to me before. I didn’t realize that he had actually made it?”

Tennyson smiled coyly, “During this period of time, I have nothing to do but to use this machine to chat with Mr. Wheatstone to relieve my boredom, although the translation work is rather troublesome. But for people like me and Mr. Wheatstone, there is no other invention that can be compared to this machine that can chat without meeting.”

Arthur cupped his chin and stared at the humble telegraph for half a day, when he suddenly opened his mouth and asked, “Can I use this thing to talk to Charles now?”

Tennyson looked up and surveyed the sky outside the window, “It shouldn’t be a problem. Normally at this time of day, Mr. Wheatstone would already be in his private laboratory getting to work.”

Arthur nodded slightly, “Good, you send a message to him for me, tell him that you seem to have discovered a new way to measure the speed of electrical currents, and ask him to come to Fleet Street immediately.”

Tennyson couldn’t help but show a hint of embarrassment when he heard this, “But Arthur …… isn’t that a lie?”

“It’s fine.” Arthur leaned back into the velvet chair in front of the Chief Editor’s desk and spoke with both hands clasped on the back of his head, “When he comes, you can just say that I sent this message.”

“But ……,” Tennyson pulled a thin booklet out of a drawer, “You don’t know our codebook, so if the message was really sent by you, it would certainly be recognized by him at a glance. ”

“And the code book?”

Dumas took that book and casually flipped through two pages, the dense characters on it made his head look big, he opened his mouth and asked, “No one else will use this machine except you and Mr. Wheatstone, is it necessary for you guys to engage in this kind of encrypted calls?”

Tennyson shook his head and said, “We don’t mess with the code book to keep it secret, but to communicate more easily and efficiently. Although there are 26 letters on this telegraph, it would be too troublesome to communicate letter by letter. That’s why Mr. Wheatstone and I designed a set of ciphers that can talk in abbreviated content.” Speaking of this, Tennyson pointed to a line in the code book and said, “Here, for example, you see, AD refers to your name, Alexandre Dumas. and CW refers to Mr. Wheatstone’s name, Charles Wheatstone.”

Arthur asked as he poured the tea, “So, I’m AH?”

Dumas, who was staring at the codebook and studying it, suddenly couldn’t help but smile a little when he heard this.

The French fat man spoke, “Sort of half right. Because AH has two meanings in this codebook.”

“Yes?” Arthur took a sip from his teacup, “What’s the other item?”

Dumas turned the codebook around and answered aloud at Arthur, “Ass Hole.”

The Red Devil couldn’t help but hoot with laughter when he heard this, and he spoke over Arthur’s shoulder, “My dear Arthur, why did you bother to ask such a question?”

Arthur put down his teacup and said, “It seems that Charles is truly sinful. Perhaps he should come and contribute to The Briton as well, not many guys in the scientist community can use puns so smoothly.”

Tennyson was embarrassed, “Arthur, I don’t think Mr. Wheatstone meant anything against you, it was just a coincidence.”

“Whatever.” Arthur said without much concern, “Ass Hole is Ass Hole as long as he can help me set up a telegraph at Scotland Yard to every major police station.”

Hearing this, Tennyson could only say a secret prayer in his mind for Wheatstone, hoping that Arthur would at the very least pay more or less for the erection of the telegraph.

In order to avoid embarrassment, he took the initiative to open his mouth to diverge from the topic and said.

“By the way, there’s a bit of other news from the editorial office during this time, and a couple of them are about you.”

“About me?” Arthur suddenly remembered the matter of Edgar Allan Poe that Owen had mentioned to him, “Can it be that some young man who wants to write a detective novel has come forward?”

Tennyson smiled back, “You really did guess right. A supporter of yours who wants to be able to ask for an autograph from you, and it would be great if he could meet you sometime.”

Hearing this, Dumas couldn’t help but frown and say, “What is this person’s origin? Why do I have to meet him if I want an autograph? Who does he think he is? We are creators of literature, not circus acrobats.”

Tennyson saw that Dumas was dissatisfied and hurriedly explained, “If any insolent person made such a request, I would of course throw him out. But …… this supporter of Arthur’s situation is a bit special, and it is again Mrs. Shelley who came to hand in the manuscript for her request, so I really don’t have a good time to open my mouth to refuse.”

Arthur instantly caught the key word, he murmured, “Mrs. Shelley? Well …… that really isn’t too good to refuse.”

Dumas similarly captured the key word, and immediately also fell into a deep thought, “Her? Well …… it is indeed ungentlemanly to refuse a lady.”

Tennyson added, “Earlier I heard Mrs. Shelley say that since we recommended her Frankenstein to the theater to be adapted into a stage play, the number of people who have been looking for her to adapt her novel’s script lately is quite a bit more than before. Plus with the help of the editorial department, the work of organizing and publishing Shelley’s posthumous works has been much smoother.

So, she could now better focus her life on socializing. A while back, after a long absence from the Bluestocking Society, she rejoined one of their book salons. If you’re going to attend a Blue Stocking Society event one day, you can send someone to give her a heads up in advance, and she’ll bring that little fan of yours with her.”

“So who the hell is ……?” Dumas squeezed an eyebrow against Tennyson’s shoulder, “Alfred, are you even going to keep me in the dark?”

Tennyson cried and laughed at this, “Alexander, it’s not that I’m not telling, but I don’t know exactly what’s going on. Mrs. Shelley just told me that the young lady is not very well, and that it is usually difficult for her to even go out. If that wasn’t the case, she would never have made such an impolite request for Arthur to meet her.”

Arthur, hearing that Mrs. Shelley had come to this point, also knew that it was more than likely something he could not put off.

He nodded and said, “In that case, I’ll have her notified the next time I attend a Bluestocking Society event. The next time Mrs. Shelley comes back to turn in her manuscript, please tell her for me. Also, make it as clear as possible to her that due to recent busy affairs and the effects of cholera, so my next participation in the Blue Stocking Society will perhaps wait until the beginning of the social season next year.”

Tennyson settled a commission and nodded as if relieved, “No problem, it’s all human nature, I’m sure Mrs. Shelley will understand.”

Speaking of which, Arthur suddenly turned to another matter.

“By the way, has Mr. Bernie Harrison been in the editorial office lately?”

“Harrison?” Dumas asked with a raised eyebrow, “What brings him to the editorial office?”

Who knows that as soon as he finished speaking, Tennyson spoke up, “It is also true that a Mr. Harrison came to the editorial office recently saying that he wanted to see you. If I remember correctly, it should be just a few days ago, not long after the Liverpool shooting. He just arrived at the editorial office, and then he spat at me, saying something like ‘I really didn’t kill anyone’, ‘this all has nothing to do with me’ and other scary things.

However I really didn’t know what he was talking about, and when he saw that I couldn’t make sense of the situation, he even told me that you were the one who told him to come to the editorial office of The Cockney when he figured it out. I told him to calm down, yet he couldn’t calm down. The two of us talked like this for half a day, and at the end of the day, he realized that I really didn’t seem to know anything. So then he told me to let him know as soon as you returned, and he would come to your door and clarify everything to you.”

(End of chapter)