“By whom was this wonderful instrument invented? Surely, his name will live forever!”
“Ah, Junius, you are right! The name of Jean Colchis will—why, Junius! what is the matter?”
Cobb had sprung from his chair as the old name, so dear to him, was uttered. He moved anxiously toward the President, and seized him by the arm, while an expression of hope, of fond remembrance, came into his eyes.
“O, tell me,” he cried. “Tell me of this Jean Colchis! of his daughter! It was he, you have said! There never was but one Jean Colchis! It must be he—my master!”
“Calm yourself, Junius,” hurriedly exclaimed Mr. Craft, as he gently laid his hand upon the young man’s shoulder. “Did you know Jean Colchis?” in a wondering tone.
“Ah! did I? He was my master! It was he, Mr. Craft, who invented the power that brought me to this new life!” Tears came into his manly eyes as he remembered his benefactor and his lovely daughter.
“I know nothing of him,” sadly returned Mr. Craft. “He was, and has passed out of life. He lives now but in history and the minds of the American people.” A dimness came into his eyes as he witnessed the emotion of the other.
“Where is the evidence of his skill, of his ingenuity? Where can I behold the work of his loved mind?”
“If you desire, Junius, you shall visit the great theatre of action of hundreds upon hundreds of his wonderful instruments—the city of America, on the Central Sea.”
Cobb had heard the announcement of his old master’s wonderful achievement in the sciences with astonishment not unmixed with joy.