TOMMY'S first thought after leaving Mr. Thompson's office was that he ought to go to New York and see his father. But almost instantly he dismissed it. The two weeks on full pay at the new salary were not given to him as a vacation to be idle in, but as a heaven-sent opportunity to help Bill ten hours a day. It was only later that he thought he would also be helping himself in so doing.

He told Bill the news, and before Bill's congratulations had more than begun he suggested that Bill try to get two weeks off, so that they could work together.

“Nothing doing.”

“How do you know?”

“I've tried,” said Bill.

Bill then told Tommy that he had made some changes in the apparatus, but they had not helped a bit.

“Are you thinking of a trip round the world just because you thought you had a patent?” asked Tommy.

“I was only thinking of you,” said Bill, quietly. He did not wish to fight. He was not discouraged. In fact, the problem was so much bigger than his original carburetor notion that he was quite reconciled to working on it a thousand years if necessary. He knew he would solve it. The tough part, of course, was that somebody else might reach the Patent Office ahead of him.

“You needn't think of me. Think of the work, old top,” said Tommy, amiably. “If instead of being an Irish terrier you were an English bulldog, you'd never let go your grip.”

“I haven't,” said Bill; “but I'm going to bed.”

“Thank Heaven to-morrow is Saturday,” said Tommy. “We'll have the whole afternoon. We'll try—”

“Don't talk about it or I won't sleep,” said Bill, so unpugnadously that Tommy felt as if Bill were in a hospital.

“Everything is all right, Bill,” he said, and shook hands with his partner. Bill brightened up a bit. But it was Tommy who found it impossible to sleep. Valuable patents evidently were like good gold-mines—few and far between. He clearly saw the folly of his hopes; and then he convinced himself that wisdom lay not in hopelessness, but in patience.

After all, he was now getting thirty dollars a week. He could send fifty dollars a month to his father and still be much better off than he was at the beginning. But seventeen thousand dollars was an appalling sum!

And yet as he thought with his head and hoped with his heart, he felt that he was on the point of becoming valuable to the Tecumseh organization. He knew—how, he did not stop to demonstrate—that he had left the “prep” school and was about to enter college, the wonderful step by which a boy becomes a man in one day. There was nothing that Tommy could not become—under Thompson! He was free under a very wise chief. Upon the heels of this thought came contentment, and with contentment came sleep.

The experiments in the little shop in Mrs. Clayton's woodshed were more encouraging for the next few days. Bill had not sent the generator and the transformer to Mr. Kemble. He wished to make the kerosene ionize as rapidly at high as at low speed. The mechanical means at their command, however, seemed more than ever inadequate for the work.

On Saturday morning, the last day of Tommy's vacation, Bill received a letter from Mr. Kemble, the patent lawyer. He read it very carefully. Then he folded it and put it back in the envelope. He looked at Tommy and said, very quietly:

“I knew it!”

Tommy looked at the envelope, saw Kemble's name on the upper left-hand corner, and felt himself grow pale.

“No patent?” he asked. His dream, notwithstanding all his self-admonitions against exaggerated hopes, crashed about his head and left him stunned.

“Read it!” said Bill, and turned away.

Tommy drew in a deep breath, reached for the death-warrant, and said: “Cheer up, Bill! We are not dead and buried by a long shot.”

“I was thinking of you,” said Bill.

“So was I,” laughed Tommy. Bill's eyes gleamed with admiration.

Tommy read the letter without a tremor.

Dear Mr. Byrnes,—Referring to the carburetor you submitted to me last week, I am inclosing with this letter copy of a patent issued last December to B. France, which is the only prior patent I have been able to find at all pertinent to your subject. I am not prepared at the present moment to say whether you infringe upon it or not, but there is a serious doubt. I think I should consult with Professor Jenkins again, as soon as you have been able to make some of the tests and investigations he suggested. It will be necessary for you to ascertain as definitely as possible exactly what are the effects and limitations of your alternating-current apparatus. It would be well to build and try out France's device, in an experimental way, of course, for the purpose of analyzing it and the differences that exist. With the results of this work before me, I could probably reach a definite conclusion on the question of infringement. I have not failed to note that whereas your resulting gas is of such a character as to permit your engine to be started cold, France has not mentioned this very important subject, and by his omission I conclude that he has not obtained that important result. This suggests a substantial and possibly fundamental difference between your invention and his; but I must confess his patent appears to have been drawn to cover a device such as yours using the alternating current. Consequently you will see the advisability of pursuing your investigations along the lines mentioned, to the end of ascertaining whether yours is an independent invention or merely another form of France's. It will not be necessary, in view of your successful reduction of your invention to actual practice, to file an application until the subject has been further illumined. Your dates are protected, but you should proceed with your experiments without delay, and I shall be interested in hearing the results or to talk with you further in connection with the inclosed patent.

Very truly yours,

Hudson G. Kemble.

“What did you want to scare me for, you murderer?” reproached Tommy.

“Well, doesn't that mean—”

“It means that we've got to consider what we must do,” interrupted Tommy.

“I'll do nothing,” said Bill, doggedly.

“Oh yes, you will,” contradicted Tommy, pleasantly.

“You fool!” shouted Bill, furiously, “what can I do? How can I do it, with only an hour or two after dinner? Do you think I can do anything here when the cold weather comes?”

“Talk to Thompson. He'll find a way. Oh, you needn't think he'll cheat you. I'll vouch for him”—Tommy spoke savagely—“a blamed sight quicker than I would for a suspicious lunkhead of an inventor.”

“Yes, he's got you hypnotized,” said Bill, with grim decision. Then, because he saw in Tommy's face the loyalty that he himself felt toward Tommy, he went on: “Well, Tommy, I give up. It's all yours. You can talk to Thompson and get what you can out of him.”

“No, you will talk to him, and then you can come back and tell me I don't know Thompson. And, anyhow, the time of our discovery is now a matter of record. Nobody can get back of the priority of claim. I tell you, Bill, if you must do business, you'd better pick out a man who is as much of a gentleman in his office as he is in his own home.”

“I'm not afraid,” said Bill, boldly. “But you arrange for the meeting.”

Afraid to talk to Thompson? Tommy almost laughed. Then he remembered that he himself was afraid to talk to Thompson about one thing!

But perhaps if he did talk to Thompson about it Thompson might help.

Perhaps!

And Tommy, after half a month of peace, once more thought of the secret.