"This time," continued he, "the undaunted young clockmaker embarked on an English man-of-war, the Tartar, and sailed for the Barbados, the chronometer gaining only forty-three seconds; and then back he came on the New Elizabeth, making the round trip of one hundred fifty-six days with only a total gain of fifty-four seconds in his father's instrument."
"Bravo! And so old Harrison at last got his money," asserted Christopher with a satisfied sigh.
"Not yet. You move too fast, sonny. Governments do not bestow fortunes at your pace. Not they! This time the commissioners paid over a third £5,000, joining with it the demand that the elder Harrison explain to a company of experts exactly how his invention worked. In our day a man would have protected himself with a patent before he surrendered the requested information but the universe of the eighteenth century was less sophisticated. Patiently Harrison told his inquisitors everything they wanted to know and in 1765 they declared themselves satisfied with the instrument in every detail."
"Well, I should think it was high time!" scoffed the boy.
The Scotchman smiled at his indignation.
"Oh, don't imagine yourself through with the story yet," said he, "for even now more conditions were enjoined. Before the balance of the prize money was paid, one of the experts was appointed to construct a chronometer like Harrison's for the purpose not only of finding out whether every claim he made for it was true, but also to assure the board that other persons beside this one old man could make such an instrument. The fulfillment of this final condition consumed three years."
"Oh, rats! I should have told them they could keep their money—the old grannies!" jeered his listener wrathfully.
"They had to be sure, you know."
"But poor Harrison! What was he doing in the meantime?"
"Growing to be a very old man, alas!" McPhearson answered in a saddened voice. "It was not until 1773 that the last of the £20,000 for which he had so valiantly struggled was given him."