"Oh, Richard," she cried; "perhaps—" but she did not finish her conjecture.
"He won't take The Machine away, will he, father?" Suzanna asked anxiously.
"No, not that particular one, little girl. There'll have to be others built. That is just the model."
At two o'clock Mr. Procter was in the attic working at the machine. At three, so interested had he grown, that he had really forgotten the expected visit of old John Massey. So it was a real surprise when Mrs. Procter ushered him in.
"Well, I'm here at last," said Mr. Massey. He looked over to where the cabinet stood. "Your machine is rather mysterious looking."
"Does it seem so? Here, lay your hat and coat on this table, Mr. Massey. Now I'll explain the purpose of the machine."
"Yes, that's what I'm most interested in, what it's for; what you expect to do with it."
Richard Procter turned an eager face to the capitalist.
"I'll start at the beginning," he said. "Have you ever stopped to think what would mean the greatest happiness to humanity?"
Mr. Massey coughed and moved uneasily. "Can't say I have. Food and drink sufficient for all, so I've heard your orator across the street announce."