## Chapter 155: Whitson’s Additional Gift
The music shop was filled with the aroma of polished wood and the faint scent of beeswax. Eldred stared wide-eyed at the suitcase Whitson held in his arms.
He furrowed his brow, then leaned down, pressing his ear against the suitcase. After listening for a while, Eldred couldn’t help but exclaim, clutching his head in disbelief, “Good heavens! Did you stuff a person inside this suitcase? And, Arthur, why does that sound… a bit like you?”
Arthur, puffing on his pipe, struck a match and lit it, “Because it’s me.”
Eldred covered his face with his hands, suddenly letting out a shriek, “What do you mean? Arthur, has your soul been trapped inside this suitcase? Then who is this you standing before me, a man or a devil?”
Arthur took a drag from his pipe, slowly exhaling a smoke ring, “What do you think? What’s the difference between the two?”
The Red Devil, who had been admiring the instruments lining the walls, couldn’t help but chuckle mischievously, “Indeed, there’s no difference. Both are enemies of God. It’s just that the devil didn’t defeat God, but man did.”
Arthur glanced at the Red Devil, then at the phonograph in front of him. “So, is this new invention a metaphor for man’s triumph over God?”
The Red Devil simply smiled, “Arthur, I wasn’t talking about that.”
Arthur didn’t bother with him anymore. He turned his head towards Eldred, who was still making a fuss, and Whitson, who was too scared to speak due to Eldred’s dramatic reactions.
He pulled out a brand new pipe from his pocket, carefully packed the tobacco, and then shoved it into Whitson’s pale-lipped, sweating mouth.
Then, he draped his arm around Whitson’s shoulders and said, “Come now, my friend, have a puff, and then explain to this Oxford gentleman the principles of the phonograph. After all, I’m not as knowledgeable about acoustics as you are.”
Whitson, trembling, adjusted his pipe, then took a deep breath. This didn’t calm him down, however. Instead, it choked him, causing him to lean against the counter and cough repeatedly, as if he had tuberculosis and was about to die.
But Arthur wouldn’t let him escape. He pulled out a flintlock pistol from under his coat, his index finger circling the trigger guard. With a snap, he slammed the pistol onto the counter.
Arthur, expressionless, grasped Whitson’s wrist, pressing his hand against the cold barrel, “Come now, Mr. Whitson. Feel this. It will give you the courage to speak.”
As soon as Whitson’s sweaty hand touched the gun, his entire body jolted as if he had been electrocuted.
In a flash, Whitson straightened his back, then pushed up his glasses, and in a serious, rigorous tone, addressed Eldred.
“Sir, the main working principle of my phonograph is based on vibration and rotation. First, during recording, sound waves are converted into the energy of a metal needle vibrating, and this metal needle uses that energy to etch the sound waves onto a wax cylinder covered in tin foil. During playback, the process is reversed…”
Initially, Whitson was a bit uncomfortable, but as he delved deeper into the explanation of the principles, he seemed to forget the presence of the others. He began to speak incessantly about the various structures of the phonograph, the problems encountered during its development, and the improvements he planned to make in the future.
However, the more Eldred listened, the more confused he became. This science-resistant individual understood neither acoustics nor mechanics. But, as a British gentleman determined to capture a noble lady’s heart through science, Eldred, following the principle of “ambition knows no age, ignorance doesn’t make you stupid,” raised his hand and asked a question.
“Mr. Whitson, I was wondering…”
But before he could finish, he heard Whitson suddenly roar, “Shut up!”
The seemingly gentle man instinctively snatched the flintlock pistol from the counter and pointed it at Eldred’s chin, roaring, “No more questions! One more word out of you, and I’ll blow your damn head off!”
Eldred was so scared he started sweating. He looked at Arthur for help, but received only a helpless bow.
Seeing this, Eldred could only take a deep breath, force a smile, and use his melancholic eyebrows and eyes to convey a message to Whitson – “Go on, you’re awesome.”
Only then did Whitson calm down. After an unknown amount of time, he finally finished his explanation of the principles of acoustics and the structure of the phonograph.
As soon as his mouth closed, he collapsed onto the counter like a deflated balloon, gasping for breath.
Arthur leaned against the edge of the counter, smiling and clapping, “Mr. Whitson, you’re doing quite well! See, public speaking isn’t that difficult. What emotions did you experience during your speech?”
Whitson closed his eyes, clutching his pounding heart. His mind was a little muddled. “I… I just felt a bit scared… then, I suddenly felt angry. I hate giving speeches, but you guys forced me to do it, so I was angry… then… then I just blurted out all that stuff.”
Arthur nodded slightly, “Congratulations! You’ve grasped the essence of public speaking. A successful speech needs emotion. Fear is an emotion that can be used, anger is also an emotion that can be used. For your audience, all you need to do is convey your emotions. Infect yourself, only then can the audience feel you.”
He then turned to Eldred, who was looking like he had just escaped a near-death experience and was wiping his sweat with a handkerchief, and said, “Did you feel Mr. Whitson’s fear?”
Eldred glared, “Are you kidding me? Who wouldn’t be scared with a gun pointed at them?”
“Then did you feel Mr. Whitson’s anger?”
Eldred pounded the counter with his fist, emphasizing, “Who wouldn’t be angry after being pointed at with a gun for no reason?”
Arthur smiled and took Whitson’s hand, “Congratulations, Mr. Whitson. While the phonograph still has many flaws, at least you’ve completed your public speaking training.”
“Is… is that right?” Whitson asked, “But… I might be able to face a few listeners, but what if it’s the Royal Society lecture hall, with that kind of scale…”
Arthur shook his finger slightly, “Mr. Whitson, did you forget what I said? When you feel scared, touch this.”
He pushed the flintlock pistol on the table towards Whitson.
Whitson stared at the gun, scratching his head, “Mr. Hastings, what do you mean?”
Arthur said, “While I believe that the current version of the phonograph, as you said, still has many flaws, such as the tin foil wax cylinder’s wear and tear, or the fact that when recording human voices, you need to get as close as possible, otherwise the sound you get out is barely louder than a mosquito.
But no matter what, these flaws point the way for future improvements. I believe that with your intelligence, you can easily solve these problems step by step. So, for the sake of this great new invention, I’ll lend you this gun for now.
If you feel scared about giving a speech to the Royal Society, or if they grab you again, then touch this gun. While there are no bullets in it, it will definitely give you enough courage.
Or, to put it another way, even if it doesn’t give you courage, it will at least make others afraid. Don’t you think that’s the way it should be?”
While Whitson was shy and timid, his intelligence was not in question. He immediately understood what Arthur meant.
His previous bitter face disappeared, replaced by an expression of radiant sunshine that London might not see even once a year.
He said enthusiastically, “Come on, Mr. Hastings, I almost forgot to tell you. While the phonograph’s current human voice recording effect isn’t very good, if it’s a piano piece, there’s absolutely no problem.
Thanks to the mechanical transmission and sound amplitude problems you mentioned to me before, I’ve been working on a piano that can be connected to the phonograph’s needle in my spare time. Any piece played on that piano can be recorded onto the phonograph’s record.
Do you know how to play the piano? You see, if you have time today, why don’t you try it? It doesn’t take much time to engrave a record, and after you finish engraving it, you can see if you can… you know… just be generous and let me off the hook.
Please, please! Don’t take me to that Sunday party! Of course, the final decision is in your hands, but if you choose not to take me, in addition to the phonograph and the record, I can also give you a custom-made violin.”
Arthur stroked his chin, looking at Whitson with interest, “Is this a bribe?”
“Bribe? No, no, no! What are you thinking?” Whitson quickly waved his hands in denial, “How could you forget? This is friendship. You’ve already given me a pistol as a return gift, so it’s only fair that I give you a violin, right?”
Arthur thought for a moment, then smiled, “Alright, Charles, show me that piano that can record music. I’ll think about the rest.”
Hearing this, Whitson’s heart finally settled. He quickly stepped aside, clearing the way to the back room, and said with a smile, “Arthur, this way, please.”
(End of Chapter)