It was late one afternoon when Haworth was finally able to say to himself that the mechanism was complete and its operation satisfactory. As early the next morning as he thought likely people would have arrived in their offices or places of business, he started out to find some one who would purchase the rights for the handling and exploitation of his novel mechanical conception; and before evening of that same day he had come home stunned and stricken with the realization that all his work had been of no avail. For it had never occurred to the young inventor that the absolute secrecy upon which the value of his device depended, could at the same time prove an insurmountable obstacle in the way of disposing of it. Not until he went out and tried to make a sale did this unfortunate situation reveal itself. Then, and at once, he made the terrifying discovery that he couldn’t possibly describe his mechanism and its tremendous monetary possibilities until he was perfectly certain that he was doing so to the man who would buy it; for there could be no possibility of anyone taking hold of it and agreeing to pay the large sum of money that he (Haworth) must have, as well as assuming the heavy expense of manufacture and general promoting, unless given a full description of the invention and its operation, together with his plans connected with its exploitation. If ever there was a vicious circle on earth, this was one—and not much distance to go in circumnavigating it. The truth came to him with a shock; indeed, he got the shock before his conscious mind was aware of the truth. He had gone to a man he used occasionally to meet at the mansion while old Mr. Cripps was alive. This gentleman and Mr. Cripps seemed quite friendly, and the latter once mentioned that Mr. Hollister (the gentleman’s name) had just made a big pile of money on some patent he owned. Haworth hadn’t seen him since those days. His office was in a large building on Beacon Street a little way up from Tremont, and Haworth was there before ten in the morning. It was his first attempt to sell. Mr. Hollister received him graciously—an elderly gentleman with a sharp Yankee face, though kindly at that. While he was quite disturbed by Haworth’s appearance—his extreme emaciation and ghastly pale face with the feverish fire burning in his eyes—he showed no sign of it, and after making him sit down by his desk and remarking on the number of years since they’d met, asked if there was anything he could do for him.