He took us over to the hose tank that was fastened high in a corner, and turned the faucet. Water came pouring through the hose into a large tub on the floor.
“The voltage is the squirt of the stream, and the size of it is the amperage, and the watts is the hole it would make in the snow. Do you know why so many men use tobacco in this town?”
“No,” I answered.
“High voltage and little to do,” he went on. “Currents o' power are flowin' into us, but—Lord!—we don't know what to do with it. We have no purpose, no gear, no machinery. So we let it off in all kinds o' folly. Look at the merchants—some of 'em are strong men, but every one has got his belt on a pinwheel. There's twenty of 'em an' work enough for two. The only men in town who are sure of a good living are the undertaker and the carver of epitaphs. We all die, if we don't do anything else.”
We turned again to the light and expressed our wonder.
“Lie low an' say nothin',” said Mr. Pearl, as he turned the lever. “I'll make 'em roll in their sleep one o' these days. All I need is money for patents an' tools an' material.”
“I'll furnish it some day,” said the young man.
“An' we'll share the profits,” said H. M. Pearl, Esq., as they shook hands.
James Henry McCarthy and I left the shop together. I asked him to go home with me, but he had to leave early next day, and so had taken quarters at the inn.
“How is Miss Fame?” I asked.