“You still talk like the wise rube before he acquires three and a half pounds of brass for two hundred and eighty dollars. A first-class professional man doesn't have to be a crook to make money. Suppose we've got to get what they call a basic patent? Don't you see it takes a first-class man to fence it in so that we can keep all that is coming to us, not only to-day but years from now when it comes to be used in ways and places we don't even suspect at this moment? And inventors don't always know the real reason why their invention works.”
Tommy was really quoting from Williams, the company's lawyer, but he looked so wisely business-like that Bill grudgingly admitted:
“I guess you're right. But where is the money coming from? That's where most inventors give up the lion's share—at the beginning.”
“I don't know,” said Tommy, thoughtfully; “but I do know I'm going to get it without money.”
“If you can do that—”
“What else can we do, you bonehead? We have no money and we must have some light.” When Professor Jenkins's answer came Tommy and Bill, with their list of questions all ready and the carburetor carefully packed, asked for a day off and traveled by night to Cleveland. In Professor Jenkins's office Tommy introduced himself and Bill with an ease and fluency that Bill envied. Professor Jenkins appeared intelligently interested. It was to Bill that he turned and asked: “What is it you have, young man?”
“I—we have a kerosene-carburetor that works like a charm,” answered Bill.
“Is that so?”
The professor did not speak skeptically, but Bill said, defiantly: “It gives perfect combustion, and we can start the engine cold even better than with gasoline. Peach!”
“Lots of people are working on that.”