‘And any road, they looked like a bunch of old guys who you’d think would do nowt more than lie about arguing about philosophy and then it turns out that all along they knew just about everything about, well, everything and just wrote it all down. Can you believe it? They ’ad it in their ’ands. They could’ve built a proper steam engine, and steam boats that didn’t explode. That’s academics for you. All that knowing and they went back to discussing t’beauty and truth of numbers and missed the fact that they’d discovered summat reet important. Me? If I want beauty and truth I look at Iron Girder.’
Dick slapped his fist down on the metal carapace and said, ‘There’s beauty. There’s truth, right there. And they had all that knowing ’iding away. Look at ’er! My machine! I built her! Me! And I’m not even good enough to be an apprentice.’
He paused for breath and continued, ‘Now don’t get me wrong, Mister Moist, I know it’s just words but, you see, it’s come home to me that, since I’ve never done me indentures, I can never be a master because there’s nobody who knows more about what I’m doing than, well, me. I’ve looked in all t’manuals and read all t’books and you can’t be a master until all the other masters say you are a master.’
Simnel looked even more haunted while Moist stood with his mouth metaphorically open and listened to the meticulous Mr Simnel blaming himself for being a genius.
He continued, ‘The lads, as I call ’em, could never ’ope to be masters neither because they won’t have been taught engineering by a master! It’s flaming ridiculous!’
Moist burst out laughing and put his hands on Dick’s greasy forehead, carefully turning the lad’s head around to face the length of the compound and the huge ever-present queues for the train ride, and he said quietly, ‘They all know you’re a master and Iron Girder is your masterpiece. What boy would not wish to be you, Mister Simnel, a manmade masterpiece yourself. Do you understand?’
Simnel looked doubtful, possibly still hankering after letters after his name and a certificate for his old mother to hang on her wall.
‘Yes, but with all due respect, the people aren’t authorities on the taming of steam. I mean no offence, like, but what do they know?’
Moist snapped and said, ‘Dick, in some respects down there somewhere is the soul of the world, and they know everything. You’ll have heard of Leonard of Quirm. There are some masters who make themselves and you have, you’ve made yourself an engineer and everybody knows it.’