T. Arthur Johnson had not, as he had told Cavendish, been a man to pass up an opportunity. Forty years of fighting and clawing his way up through the jungle of business competition had sharpened his senses and heightened his awareness of what one fatal mistake could do.
Still, no man is infallible; all miss out on something, sometime. Some men go through their entire lives making the wrong decisions; they end up failures.
T. Arthur Johnson was a qualified success. Qualified, for, although successful he might be, as a man he was not happy. It is rarely that the two go hand-in-hand. Happiness and success often seem to be mutually exclusive goals. Yet contentment is a close cousin of happiness, and many let themselves be satisfied with second best.
After checking with Cavendish to find out just how much time would have to be invested in the experiments, Johnson arranged his affairs into the hands of several trusted managers—trusted because they were owned, body and soul, by Johnson. On the morning of the third day, as the last of the Public Power trucks was leaving the warehouse in which Cavendish had set up his laboratory, Johnson presented himself at the door.
"Ah, Mr. Johnson." His eyes lit up. "Right on time. I suppose you are as anxious as I to get on with the experiments."
"Time is valuable," said Johnson. "I don't believe in wasting it. Shall we get on with it?"
"Of course."
The lab seemed little changed from Johnson's earlier visit. An adjustable lounge chair had been set up near the screen; from it, lines ran into a panel of equipment that the industrialist found incomprehensible. At Cavendish's gesture, he sat down and permitted electrodes to be attached to his head and arms.