It was an unusual group that gathered that night in the dining room. Ardswell and Weatherby had spent a week in Philadelphia before Wimperley telegraphed Clark to come down. The story was plain enough. The two Englishmen had come from London to hear it,--and it was told well. But Wimperley and Birch shared the belief that Clark, in the meantime, should be kept in the background, lest his hypnosis should envelop them as of old. They held him, as it were, a reserve store of influence to be used at the proper time, and it was not till the financial aspect of the affair was thoroughly digested that he was called in to play his appointed part. Ardswell and Weatherby wanted to see whether the machine could be made to run commercially. That it was not so running was obviously the fault of those in charge, and Clark at once determined not to attempt to make former mistakes less glaring. The more obvious they were allowed to remain, the more easy their rectification. He was too much in love with the works to dodge this sacrifice, and yet could not conceive their continuing without him. Assuming this onerous duty, he was perfectly aware that he dealt with minds of a new complexion. Instead of responsive Americans, he confronted two cool-blooded Britishers, to whom any show of spontaneity was out of place. They were on guard, and Clark knew it, and of all his achievements none stands out more prominently than his attitude on the three days that followed. He became a Britisher himself. He assumed, quite correctly, that nothing would be accepted without proof. Tramping about the works, they were accompanied by the superintendents of the various departments, to whom he referred the pointed questions that came so frequently in high-pitched, well modulated English voices. What Clark said himself was very curt and to the point. The works, he decided, could talk for themselves. Coming last to the pulp mill, Ardswell ran an admiring eye down the long rank of machinery, ranged like sleeping giants in a dwindling perspective. "I say," he remarked involuntarily, "I'd like to see the thing turn over. Could it be arranged?--at our expense of course," he added. Clark nodded to the superintendent, who was close behind, and presently the day watchmen were twisting at the turbine gate wheels. A soft tremor ran through the building, growing steadily to a deep, hoarse rumble as the massive grindstones revolved faster. The floor vibrated in a quick rhythm, and in a few seconds came the full drone of work--that profound and elemental note of nature when she toils at the behest of man. The faintest flicker of light stirred in the blue English eyes. Ardswell had been walking from turbine to turbine. "Ripping!" he said. "You might shut down now." The titans dropped one by one into slumber. When the last vibration was stilled, he looked up with a new respect. "We might go ahead if you don't mind." "Take a quarter of an hour first, and follow me."