“Things have changed some since you left, Grace. And I’m sorry you had to quit school,” Durland was saying, while Ethel, having greeted her sister, sat down by the smoldering coal fire and resumed her sewing.
“It’s all right, father,” said Grace, who had taken off her hat and coat. “I came back as soon as I got the news so you and mother would know it’s all right with me. We’re all going to put up a cheerful front, no matter what happens.”
“Of course we’ve all got to do that,” murmured Ethel without looking up.
“It’s hard on you children,” said Durland. “It’s all my fault; I’ve got nobody to blame but myself, Grace. Cummings always seemed willing for me to go on as I did for twenty years, trying to improve on the old patents and develop new ideas. But ideas don’t come as fast as they used to. I guess he thought he’d got everything I was ever likely to have to offer.”
“It was certainly unkind, after all the years you’d been together. But I don’t believe for a minute your work’s done. You’ll strike something bigger than any of your old inventions.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling father,” said Ethel. “A man who’s spent years inventing things is likely to find something big any time. Of course, without the shop father can’t work as well, but he’s going to have a shop of his own.”
“Oh, that’s fine, father!” exclaimed Grace. “Where is the new place going to be?”
“It’s not much of a place,” Durland answered apologetically. “I rented a little room in the Billings Power Building and am going to run a pattern and model shop. I hope to get enough work right away to pay the rent.”
“I’m sure you will. Everybody who knows anything about the machinery business knows you’re the inventor of the only good things Cummings-Durland make.”
“They’ve changed the name of the company now,” Ethel remarked. “They’ve cut father’s name out.”