Sheffield naturally had an impression of the so-called father, but it was merely that—a person existing in his memory. Since Lord Buddha put it this way, Sheffield would naturally comply, though he didn't expect any surprises. A genius deliberately playing dumb was just literary embellishment.
Under Anna贝尔's family influence, if the so-called father really had abilities, wouldn't Lord Buddha want the entire Union to know by the next day? Could they talk about anything else?
"How could they smuggle many Eastern European Slavs yet miss Tesla?" Since they were preparing to wield the patent stick, European patents were naturally crucial, but internal potential needed to be tapped as well.
Tesla had been in the Union for ten years and became a citizen five or six years ago. Objectively speaking, Tesla had just won the AC war against Edison and was now gaining fame.
Sheffield knew that although Tesla held thousands of patents, his financial situation wasn't good. On the contrary, facing Edison's suppression, Tesla endured numerous unfair tactics.
At least Tesla's talent shouldn't be below Edison's. If there was something different? How many people in the entire Union could compete with Morgan?
After all, the only place where an Orthodox Slav could feel a bit of home other than Texas was hard to find. Missing out wasn't irreparable.
"I will arrange Tesla's matter. However, young master, Madam is arranging your itinerary. You can board the ship with others then." Padra approached gracefully with her usual gentle smile.
"First investigate Tesla's personality, beliefs, living habits, and a series of elements. Contact can be made, but strictly business. Leave the rest to me when I return." Sheffield nodded, "Tell me the departure time when it comes. I'll follow Grandmother's arrangements."
Soon, Sheffield understood why. Top merchants in the Union couldn't ignore politics. This was also a tradition in the Union. Lord Buddha's actions were timely, stemming from the Venezuelan crisis.
The current Union had believers in the American Century and admirers of Europe. The newly appointed Secretary of State belonged to the latter. Last month, President Cleveland proposed promoting the tough Oney to be the new Secretary of State. O'Neil firmly believed the "American Century" had arrived and that the Union must actively expand outward.
And this Secretary of State was now waiting to board at the New York port. His purpose was naturally to go to Europe to explain the Union's stance—simply put, diplomatic work. Diplomatic work couldn't be as straightforward as military matters, adhering to a win-lose mindset. With such thoughts, given the current power comparison between the Union and the British Empire, the country getting beaten up would surely be the Union.
Looking at the chimneys of the ship named San Marino, Sheffield didn't feel particularly good. At least fifty strong men surrounded him. These Black Gold employees now dressed beyond the realm of Western cowboys, uniformly wearing suits and sunglasses. Being flanked on both sides, Sheffield rolled his eyes and had to lower his hat brim. Despite this, his top hat remained conspicuous.
Nominally, Sheffield was an inconspicuous accompanying member of the Union's Agriculture and Animal Husbandry Association. Of course, the external purpose was to conduct the annual inspection of the European agriculture and animal husbandry market, going through formalities to deepen bilateral relations. After all, Europe was an important destination for Union agricultural exports. Exaggerating a bit, many Europeans relied on American grains to survive.
The Southern Dixie people had much more international perspective compared to the Yankees, since Northern industrial products couldn't be sold in Europe. Without tariffs propping them up, even domestic residents wouldn't buy them.
He was naturally handling affairs for his own family. As for the Union's stance or the Secretary of State's "American Century," while important, they weren't as crucial as his family matters.
"If only I had time, I'd really like to visit Wall Street." As the ship started, Sheffield looked at the shrinking New York, feeling no regret. He could always see it again upon return. Turning back to the cabin, his long sea voyage had just begun.
Wow! Tossing and turning, Sheffield deeply understood the meaning of navigating the sea depending on the helmsman. As a first-time sailor, feeling somewhat uncomfortable was normal. Perhaps Neptune was subtly telling him the importance of money.
Soon, a steward entered. As a top liner in 1895, the ship's stewards displayed their professionalism without a hint of impatience. It would be better if they didn't expect tips.
"Tipping is truly a cancer in the Union!" Sheffield wiped his mouth, not wanting to adapt further to the ocean in the cabin. He got up to find a larger space, even if just to enjoy the sea breeze, maybe even compose a poem.
As a top liner of this era, there naturally was a spacious hall for dancing. However, that was a British gentleman's sport. Unfortunately, almost all passengers on the ship departing from New York were Union citizens. A few mixed-race men and women danced Latin dances, swaying gracefully with the music, exuding youth.
This left Sheffield greatly disappointed. But the hall was crowded, showing it wasn't the Union people who were wrong; he was the one who didn't fit in.
"It's Connor and them!" A Black Gold employee behind pointed to a corner twenty meters away and spoke. That position was closer to the Latin dancers. Sheffield glanced and nodded, "I know, don't disturb them."
Followed by a few employees, Sheffield found a seat and sat down, immediately drawn to the wine placed before him. He thought, if I get drunk, will the tedious journey lessen?
Just as he prepared to act, a series of crashing sounds reached his ears. Turning his head, he saw a group led by John Connor, poised and ready, seemingly preparing for a fight.
What a coincidence!
Impatiently, Sheffield stood up and walked towards the confrontation spot. The Black Gold employees behind him naturally didn't dare slack off, standing up with hands already in pockets, ready to respond.
In just twenty meters, the situation almost escalated from verbal sparring to physical combat until Sheffield's group joined in. Upon seeing the arrivals, John Connor came to his senses and fell silent.
After hearing a couple of sentences from the other side, Sheffield grinned and said, "Even two hundred miles apart, I can smell the stench of the Yankee thief. What's going on?" By the time the last sentence was asked, his gaze had already landed on John Connor.
(End of Chapter)