I touched the steel, touched the spindle that had been revolving so swiftly. “No.” “See if you can pull it out.” I tried, and failed. “Tight fit, you see,” Forgan told me. “But she’s been spinning in there for three days now, except when we stop her to measure once in a while. No oil, and no heat, and no wear.” “But what’s it all about?” I asked. “That’s an oilless bearing,” Forgan explained, a little disgusted with my stupidity. “Piece of hard wood, filled with oil. Use the stuff to make wrist-pins and all, and you’ll never have to oil your chassis at all.” The thing broke upon me. “But does it work?” I asked. “You see it,” he said. “It works here. Well, it’ll work anywhere.” “And Ernie figured that out?” “He sure did.” “Why, the man’s a genius!” “Yeah. Ever since he went and got his picture took.” “How does he make this, anyway--this bearing? Soak the wood in oil?” Forgan laughed. “Not as easy as that. He puts her in as hot as the devil, and under a lot of pressure. Don’t just know how. He won’t tell. He’s got a lay-off now to work it out. Figuring on cost. Cost’s too much now; but he’s going to figure to make it cheaper. He--” Ernie himself came in just then. I hardly knew him. He had on a new suit of clothes; he was close-shaven, and his hair was trimmed. His bearing was that of a successful and confident man, and he nodded to the respectful Forgan as one nods to a chauffeur. “How is she?” he asked. “Cool as a cucumber,” Forgan assured him. “Any wear?” “I’ll see,” the foreman said with alacrity, and proceeded to dismantle the test-apparatus and apply a micrometer to the bearing. Ernie nodded to me, and I said, “Seems like a fine thing.” “It is,” he replied, positively and confidently, yet without a trace of arrogance or ugly pride. “Yes; it will do very well.” “No wear at all,” Forgan reported, and Ernie nodded assent. “Keep her going,” he directed. While Forgan was setting the apparatus again in position, Ernie and I went up the stair together. He said, as we came to the main floor, “By the way, that film, you know--” “The one you were in--” “Yes. It’s at the Globe next week.” “I’ll surely go and see it,” I promised him. We separated with a word, and I drove home, marveling at this new man that had been Ernie Budder--marveling at the power of suggestion. He had been told that he looked like a great inventor, and he had emerged from this experience stimulated, sure of himself, alert, and keen--a new man. Such a slight fillip from the finger of Destiny to throw open before a man’s feet new and lofty ways-- V