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.