Bill kept on working away at his experiments at home after shop hours, with the usual violent changes in his moods. One evening after a particularly explosive outburst, which ended by his shaking a clenched fist at the carburetor, Bill shouted:
“I'll make you do it yet, dodgast ye!”
“Bill,” said Tommy, seriously, “tell your partner what the trouble is. Begin at the beginning and use words of one syllable.”
“What good will that do, you poor college dude?”
“Well, it will enable me to give you a d—d good licking with a free conscience,” said Tommy. “Did you never hear how often inventors' wives have suggested the way out by means of the little door labeled Common Sense? It is in The Romances of Great Inventors.”
“Well, if you can find the way out of this you are a wonder.”
“I am. Go on.” Bill looked at Tommy, who went on, cheerfully, “Be a sport; loosen up.” After a moment Bill spoke calmly, “You know heat is not enough to effect the perfect vaporization of the kerosene.”
“What would be the effect of passing a whopper of an electric current direct through the kerosene before you do anything else?”
Tommy, as he said this, looked as wise as a woman does when she offers advice because having no knowledge she can give no commands.
“I don't know,” said Bill, indifferently. Then he repeated, “I don't know,” less indifferently. Then he shouted: “I don't know, but, by heck, I'm going to find out! Now get out of here!”