"Oh, my dear, my dear, after all these years!" She lifted her face and kissed him solemnly.
And then Peter repeated his question, to which before there had been no answer.
"What does the color mean, daddy?" he asked.
"Two colors recording in that manner means great versatility; purple means the artist, probably a writer."
Peter looked his bewilderment. His mother, smiling a little, reduced the explanation to simpler form. Even then Peter was befogged.
The inventor went to a remote corner and brought forth a large book containing many pages. This he placed upon a small table, and the children and their mother crowded about him, eager to see and to hear.
Mr. Procter lit a side lamp so the light fell upon the book, then he turned the pages slowly. Blocks of color lay upon each, some in squares alone, some merging into others like a disjointed rainbow. Above each block, or merged block, were writings, interpretations of color meaning, word above word; many erasures, as though fresh thought thrust out the integrity of early ones.
Mr. Procter spoke to his wife. "Till the machine showed the possibilities of ultimate success, I have said nothing even to you of its inception. Now, however, I may speak.
"It may sound strange, but from the time I was a very young boy, I've seen others in color. That is, a vivid personality never failed to translate itself in purple to me; a pale one in blue. It was out of that spiritual sight that I built my theory of color. It took me years, but time after time have I proved to my own complete satisfaction that each individual has a keynote of color; a color explaining his purpose."
A thousand questions of details, of practicalities that his theory did not seem in the rough to touch, rushed to Mrs. Procter's lips; but she could not voice one, she could not quench his uplifted expression and, indeed, so great was her belief in him that she had faith that he would overcome all obstacles.