By 1880, the London Underground had been operating for nearly 20 years.
It was the world's earliest subway system, though currently it only had one "Metropolitan Line".
Lionel decided to experience this early achievement of the Industrial Revolution, so he buttoned up his coat and strode towards the station entrance.
Through a descending stairwell, Lionel entered London's underground world.
Above his head was a semicircular arch, blackened by soot.
Gas lamps on the walls cast a dim yellow glow, and the air was filled with a damp, sooty smell.
The station wasn't deserted; it seemed to be mostly populated by clerks, merchants, workers, housewives, and maids...
Following the signs, Lionel headed towards the ticket window.
Passengers at the window would state their destination, and the ticket seller would tear off the corresponding ticket from a stack of different colored ticket books, collect the money, and give change.
When it was Lionel's turn, he bent down, trying to peer through the small window.
The ticket seller, without lifting his head, asked,
"Where to, sir?"
Lionel said,
"I'm staying at the 'Sussex Hotel'. Which station should I get off at?"
The ticket seller skillfully tore off a light yellow ticket:
"Farringdon Street Station, 4 sections, 4 pence."
Lionel handed over the change, took the ticket, carefully put it away, and followed the crowd to the platform.
The platform was also somewhat blackened by gas lamps and the soot from steam locomotives.
Various advertising posters adorned the walls: for soap, tea, sedatives, mummy powder, and theatrical performances.
Soon, a dull rumble approached from afar, accompanied by the grating sound of metal friction, as a steam locomotive pulling several wooden carriages slowly entered the station.
The carriages looked like miniature versions of ordinary train cars, with "First Class" or "Second Class" written on their doors.
Lionel had bought a second-class ticket, and he followed most of the passengers into a second-class carriage.
Inside, there were long hardwood benches, with passengers sitting face to face.
The lighting was dim, and the smell of steam and soot grew stronger.
With a "clank," the carriage door closed.
The whistle blew again, the train gave a sharp jolt, and slowly began to move, causing Lionel to sway slightly.
The train quickly entered the dark tunnel; outside the window, brick archways rushed past, and the wheels emitted a rhythmic "clatter-clatter" sound.
Lionel leaned back in his seat, observing the surrounding passengers: some had their eyes closed in thought, some were reading newspapers, but most just stared blankly out the window...
Amidst the flickering light and shadow, a sense of disorienting déjà vu washed over him again.
It was as if he were sitting on Beijing's Subway Line 1, and in the next moment, an electronic female voice might announce:
"Train arriving at Gongzhufen. Please mind your belongings, allow passengers to alight first..."
...
"This train is bound for Aldgate, stopping at Portland Street, Euston Square, King's Cross, Moorgate..."
The subway conductor shouted loudly between the carriages, startling Lionel awake from his reverie.
——————
The next morning, Lionel arrived at the "Good Words" magazine office as arranged.
He now held the highest level of priority at this magazine.
The secretary at the editor-in-chief's office door immediately stood up when he announced his name.
"Dr. Macleod instructed that you can come in anytime you arrive," she said, opening the door for Lionel.
It was Lionel's first time visiting here.
Inside the editor-in-chief's office, bookshelves from floor to ceiling lined all four walls, packed with books and file folders, and the air was thick with the smell of cigars, paper, and ink.
Dr. Norman Macleod sat behind his large desk.
A young man, with his back to the door, was speaking to Dr. Macleod.
When Norman Macleod saw Lionel enter, a bright smile immediately spread across his face:
"Ah! Our great creator is here!"
The young man also turned around and bowed to Lionel.
He was exceptionally tall and thin, with a prominent chin that resembled a shovel.
Seeing a visitor, the young man prepared to take his leave:
"Please rest assured, if it experiences any malfunction, please be sure to notify us immediately. We will dispatch personnel for on-site service at any time!"
It was then that Lionel noticed something novel on Dr. Norman Macleod's desk.
It was a machine made of brass and wood, with a stand supporting a horseshoe-shaped earpiece, a crank, and a separate microphone.
Lionel blurted out,
"A telephone!?"
Norman Macleod looked surprised:
"You recognize this contraption?"
The young man also stopped, his eyes fixed on Lionel.
Lionel nodded:
"I've heard a little about it..."
Thinking about the timeline, the telephone should indeed have been invented by now.
This era was an "explosion of inventions," with all sorts of new gadgets emerging constantly.
How could he remember so many?
But when he encountered one, he could still recognize it.
Norman Macleod quipped,
"This young fellow claims this thing can let people chat with someone thousands of miles away as if they were face to face.
I just hope it doesn't end up like that 'perpetual' inkwell I bought last month, which became a pile of scrap metal after three days."
The young man was unfazed by Dr. Macleod's teasing.
Instead, he thought Lionel might be a potential client.
After all, not everyone could elicit such a warm reception from the editor-in-chief of "Good Words."
He pulled out a business card from his pocket and handed it over:
"Sir, if you ever need one, feel free to contact our 'Edison Telephone Company'. I am George Bernard Shaw, the business manager."
George Bernard Shaw... Lionel silently repeated the name in his mind, then looked at the young man's chin, finally confirming that it shouldn't be a mere coincidence of names.
He took the business card and shook his hand very courteously:
"Mr. Shaw, it's a pleasure to meet you. I am Lionel, Lionel Sorel, from France."
George Bernard Shaw's eyes lit up:
"Mr. Sorel? The Mr. Sorel of 'The Old Guard', 'My Homeland', and 'Letter from an Unknown Woman'?"
Lionel smiled and nodded.
George Bernard Shaw suddenly became a little flustered:
"Mr. Sorel, I also enjoy writing a bit, but none of it ever amounts to anything..."
Lionel patted his shoulder:
"It's alright. As long as you persevere, you will surely succeed!"
George Bernard Shaw visibly grew excited:
"Re... really?"
Lionel's tone was very sincere:
"Of course, although I haven't read your work yet, your ch—... your eyes have already told me of your talent."
George Bernard Shaw was almost moved to tears:
"The reviewer at Chapman & Hall said my work was too conservative..."
Lionel offered a few more words of encouragement before George Bernard Shaw, with red-rimmed eyes, left the office.
Lionel sat opposite Norman Macleod, who chuckled:
"How did you figure out that young man had literary talent?"
Lionel shrugged:
"Didn't you notice his cuffs? They were heavily frayed and stained with quite a few ink spots, indicating he certainly spends a lot of time writing.
He mentioned so many of my works, yet omitted 'A Study in Scarlet', which suggests he pursues a relatively serious literary concept.
A mid-level manager with a promising future at the 'Edison Telephone Company', yet so passionate about literature—as long as he keeps writing, he's bound to make a name for himself!"
Norman Macleod looked at Lionel skeptically:
"Were you just 'deducing'? Can he really write?"
Lionel said without hesitation:
"Otherwise, let's make a bet. George Bernard Shaw will shake Britain, and indeed all of Europe, in the future!"
Norman Macleod's competitive spirit was ignited:
"Alright! A bet it is!"
Lionel pulled out a 1-pound gold coin and tossed it to Norman Macleod:
"When he becomes famous, you'll owe me an extra one."
Norman Macleod solemnly placed the gold coin into a small velvet box:
"It's a deal! But I think you're going to lose! He might publish some minor works, but to shake Britain..."
Lionel did not argue, merely smiling:
"Let's talk about 'A Study in Scarlet' now..."
(End of Chapter)