"That is just what I wish. I am already rich, while Scott has his fortune yet to make."
"I will help him to make it."
"Come around to-morrow, Mr. Babcock, at ten o'clock, and I will have the money ready. We will also have papers regularly drawn up, so that Scott's share of the investment may be secured to him. And now, I shall have to bid you good-evening, as I have an engagement with a friend at the Union League Club."
The two went out.
The inventor was fairly radiant.
"Mr. Walton," he said, "you don't know what you have done for me. You have given me a new lease of life. When I came to your room to-night I was in a mood that might have led me to throw myself from the Brooklyn Bridge. Mr. Little's cold-blooded letter had much to do with bringing on that mood. I felt that there was no hope for me."
"And now?"
"Now I have hope—and confidence. I have a presentiment of success. I shall make myself rich and you also."
"I hope your presentiment will prove prophetic," said Scott, smiling. "I can assure you that a fortune will be welcome. At present I have only accumulated one hundred dollars."
"That is not bad for a young man of your age."