“Failure. That which worked so well on a small scale was useless on a large.”
Vane was the only one standing, and leaning his elbows on the great drawing, his chin upon his hands, deeply interested in the pipes, elbows, taps, furnace, and various arrangements.
“But that seems strange,” said the doctor. “I should have thought you were right.”
“Exactly,” said Deering, eagerly. “You would have thought I was right. I felt sure that I was right. I would have staked my life upon it. If I had had a doubt, Lee, believe me I would not have risked that money, and dragged you down as I have.”
“I believe you, Deering,” said the doctor, more warmly than he had yet spoken; “but, hang it, man, I wouldn’t give up. Try again.”
“I have tried again, till I feel that if I do more my brain will give way—I shall go mad. No: nature is against me, and I have made a terrible failure.”
Aunt Hannah sighed.
“There is nothing for me but to try and recover my shattered health, get my nerves right again, and then start at something else.”
“Why not have another try at this?” said the doctor.
“I cannot,” said Deering. “I have tried, and had disastrous explosions. In one moment the work of months has been shattered, and now, if I want men to work for me again, they shake their heads, and refuse. It is of no use to fence, Lee. I have staked my all, and almost my life, on that contrivance, and I have failed.”