"No. It is Aikens who is not here. You know him? If the thing satisfies him, he'll bring it into his factories over the Delaware, and make Johns push it through at Washington. He's a thorough-goer, Aikens. Then it will be a success. That's Johns,--that burly fellow in the frock-coat. You have had the model at Washington, I think you told me, Mr. Starke?" "Three years ago. I exhibited it before a committee. On the Capitol grounds it was." "Well?" "Oh, with success, certainly. They brought in a bill to introduce it into the public works, but it fell through. Woods brought it in. He was a young man: not strong, maybe. That was the reason they laughed, I suppose. He tried it for two or three sessions, until it got to be a sort of joke. I had no influence. That has been the cause of its failure, always." His eyes dropped; then he suddenly lifted his hand to his mouth, putting it behind him again, to turn with a smile when Miss Defourchet addressed him. Dr. Bowdler started. "Look at the blood," he whispered to Friend Turner. "He bit his finger to the bone." "I know," said the old Quaker. "The man is quiet from inanition and nervous tension. This trial means more to him than we guess. Get him out of this crowd." "Come, Mr. Starke," and the Doctor touched his arm, "into my library. There are some curious plates there which"-- Andy had been gulping for courage to speak for some time. "Don't let him go without a glass of wine," he muttered to the young lady. "I give you my honor I haven't got food across his lips for"-- She started away from him, and made the machinist drink to the success of "our engine," as she called it; but he only touched the glass to his lips and smiled at her faintly: then left the room with her uncle. The dog followed him: he had kept by Starke since the moment he came into the breakfast-room, cuddling down across his feet when he was called away. The man had only patted him absently, saying that all dogs did so with him, he didn't know why. Thor followed him now. Friend Turner beckoned the clergyman back a moment. "Make him talk, Richard. Be rough, hurt him, if thee chooses; it will be a safety-valve. Look in his eyes! I tell thee we have no idea of all that has brought this poor creature into this state,--such rigid strain. But if it is broken in on first by the failure of his pump, if it be a pump, I will not answer for the result, Richard." Dr. Bowdler nodded abruptly, and hurried after Starke. When he entered the cozy south room which he called the library, he found Starke standing before an oil-painting of a baby, one the Doctor had lost years ago. "Such a bright little thing!" the man said, patting the chubby bare foot as if it were alive. "You have children?" Dr. Bowdler asked eagerly. "No, but I know almost all I meet in the street, or they know me. 'Uncle Joe' they call me,"--with a boyish laugh. It was gone in a moment. "Are they ready?" "No."