Tom’s loquaciousness had a habit of utterly disappearing, when a new scientific conception entered his head. As we drove to the station, he stopped the cab at a bookseller’s, dashed in, and returned with a package of books and papers. Once settled in the train, “Don’t speak to me till I get through, if you don’t mind,” he said, “I’ve got something here I want to work out.” He opened his new package, spread the books on the seat, and took up a block and his fountain pen. I scanned the titles of his books casually. “New Insulators for High Currents,” “Control and Insulation of Radio-active Apparatus,” “Yacht Construction,” “Theory of Wood Working,” “Caema, What It Has Done for Electricity,” “Types of Sailing Vessels for the Past Twenty Years.” “Queer mixture,” I said to myself idly, and then I turned my attention to the scenery. Tom was busy with his pocket rule, measuring and laying off diagrams, for three hours, until the outer edges of London began to appear. Looking up suddenly, he spoke, “Almost in, aren’t we? Well, I’ll put my work away, and we’ll discuss our future plans for a few minutes.” As we rolled into Waterloo station, our discussion ended. “We’ll go down somewhere on the Channel,” said Tom, “set up the wave-measuring machine, and see what we can do with that. It’s our best card, and we’ll work there till Dorothy comes. We’ve got to hang round here till she arrives, anyway.” “We certainly have,” said I, and my heart leaped exultantly at the thought of her coming. CHAPTER X Once more I sought the booking office at Euston. “The Express has left Prince’s Stage at Liverpool, sir. Will be here in about three hours now, sir,” was the response to my question.