“As you have,” came back the hollow voice out of the gloom, “why don’t you tell me what you want?” “It’s a matter of some importance to us and I thought it might be to you. I represent a firm——Great God! what’s the matter?” For as Haworth approached him out of the shadows at the far end of the room and the light from the front window fell on his face, Pentecost saw it distinctly for the first time, and the eyes that looked out at him from the drawn and almost distorted features might have been those of a drowning man. “Matter?” the young man repeated. “Why—yes. Are you—are you feeling all right Mr. Haworth?” “You said you came about something important.” “Yes—I did—but perhaps you——” “If it’s money I owe you take anything you want and go away—that’s all—go away!” Saying which, Haworth turned and started walking restlessly about the room as he was doing before. “Not at all—not at all! There’s nothing like that! It’s just the other way—I’m going to put a few dollars in _your_ pocket if you’ve got anything I can use.” Haworth, halfway down the room, swung round with a look of such fearful and desperate avidity that Pentecost saw at once it was a case of money. The young fellow was in some dire extremity—some feverish need that mere destitution, even to the point of starvation, wouldn’t explain. Couldn’t be a more favorable situation for business. Easy to drive him to the wall and get one of his inventions for a block of stock—in other words, for nothing. “I represent a firm of promoters—New York—Harker & Pentecost.” He took a card from his pocketbook. “We’re always looking for novelty—something different from anything that’s been on the market before.” Mr. Pentecost paused, but the young man said nothing, and he went on: “It came to us a short time ago that you had some extraordinary inventions here and if——” “There’s nothing you’d want,” Haworth interrupted. “But perhaps—if you’d allow me to see what——” “There’s no use in that! They come—hundreds of them—just want me to let them see. Then they’re sorry, but there’s nothing of practical use. That’s it—always nothing practical—always—always!” He moved away. “It’s nothing to me whether the thing’s practical or not!” Haworth stopped and stood looking at him. “I’m not looking for carpet sweepers,” Pentecost went on, “or fireless cookers or any of those things that people are tired of reading advertisements about. The thing I’m after is novelty—something absolutely new and unheard of—something impressive in its operation so we can exploit it and give it a chance. Now it struck me from what I heard, that your work would perhaps be just the kind——”