The Italian rag-pickers had taken to the road, with a monkey and an organ as tramps for the summer, leaving their filth behind them.
Mr. Armstrong looked into their vacated den, and found it impossible to imagine what it could have been when occupied.
The windows had been stoned by the street boys until hardly a pane remained, and the staircase had rotted so that he thrust his foot through it. The house would need plastering and glazing as well as replumbing. It began to look like a great undertaking. However, he bade the plumber make and send him his estimates, and hurried out of the court, not taking a full breath until he was fairly on Broadway. Then he sent a mason and a carpenter to look at the building. "I must make some repairs," he said to himself, "or I shall get no tenants whatever."
He had noticed another defect: there was but one staircase. He must add a fire-escape, for the place was a death-trap. He had a feeling of responsibility in regard to endangering the lives of human beings by fire, and he was trying to invent a scheme for heating and lighting railroad cars in such a manner as to do away with the danger of fire in case of accident. So far, the full completion of the invention escaped him, but he worked at it by night and day, not so much because it would be an immense boon to the age, but because he was sure that, if introduced only on his own railroad, it would boom the line above a rival route, and if patented, would make his fortune. Solomon Meyer, in enumerating the tenants of the court, had mentioned a Mr. Trimble, a poor inventor, who occupied the back attic, whom it would be well to turn out, as he had paid no rent for some time, though he had promised well, saying that he had just invented a scheme for the safe heating of cars, from which he hoped to realize a large sum. Mr. Armstrong thoughtlessly displayed before his agent the interest which he felt. "Bring the man to me," he exclaimed; "if he has really worked out the problem, it is just what I want."
The agent at once paid a visit to the poor inventor and possessed himself of his plans and model, promising to do his best for him.
Mr. Armstrong saw at a glance that the inventor had compassed just what had baffled him so long.
"What will he take for this invention?" he asked, eagerly.
"Not one cent less as five t'ousand dollar," replied Mr. Meyer.
"That is a good round sum," remarked Mr. Armstrong, "but the right to it is worth more than that to me. Arrange the papers for me, get the gentleman to sign them, give him this check for a thousand dollars, and I will send him another, soon, for four thousand."
Mr. Meyer saw his opportunity here. He returned to Mr. Trimble, assured him that his contrivance had been anticipated and already patented by another man: he was too late. The poor man's disappointment was intense; his head and hands trembled.