“That was the first steam-engine, Anne. Just think of it—the first steam-engine. And James Watt doped it out all by himself—just because he had noticed how the steam lifted the lid of that kettle. And he had seen it do that hundreds of times before—and so had everybody else—and never thought anything about it. Isn’t that wonderful, Anne?”
The girl’s eyes were very big and tender as she looked up into his face.
“Yes—it’s very wonderful, Jimmy. You know about so many wonderful things,” she said softly.
“I was just thinking, Anne—” He paused. “When coal burns underground, you can get the heat out of it just the same. And then if—if—” His voice trailed into silence; he sat staring straight ahead into the distance.
Anne sat quiet, gazing with awe up into his set face, as though she was in the presence of genius. The minutes passed. Then abruptly Jimmy spoke again:
“Why—why do you have to mine coal at all?” he said slowly. “If you can burn it in the ground and get the heat—why do you have to mine it at all?”
Anne did not understand, but she was thrilled by the new note of tenseness in his voice.
She put her hand over his, pressing it encouragingly. “Yes, Jimmy—yes?”
“If—if you could burn the coal right where it is in the ground—and—and put your factory over the heat—then—why, then—”
A long pause; then Jimmy suddenly sprang to his feet.