“But when a rich man brought you his big fussy radio that would get Berlin, Tokio, London, and maybe Mars, you charged him—”
“Plenty!” Sally laughed.
“Yes, your old C. K. must have been a fine man, but what about the inventions?”
“Oh, that—” Sally frowned. “He’s such a sensitive old man, C. K. is. We invented something quite wonderful—that is, he did. That was quite a while ago. I didn’t know much about it but we could ride about at night in his rattly old car, and every now and then he’d stop and say: ‘See! Some young fellow off there is operating a sending radio.’ We could have driven right up to his door if we wanted to, but we never did.”
“It was a radio-spotter!”
“Yes, and C. K. said it was the best one ever made.”
“What came of it?”
“Nothing. You see, C. K. was very fond of his country. He thought Uncle Sam should have his invention. So Mother and I fixed him up the best we could—he just wasn’t interested in clothes—and we sent him off to Washington. And,” Sally sighed deeply, “he just couldn’t stand waiting. They kept him waiting three days. Then, because he was old and a little bit shabby they thought he didn’t know much, so—”
“So nothing came of it?”
“Just nothing. C. K. came back discouraged and downhearted, but pretty soon we were working as hard as ever. And now,” Sally’s eyes shone, “you just ought to see—”