Mark Tidd’s father was walking up and down the parlor with a volume of the Decline and Fall in his hand when the pompous man with the silk hat rapped at the door. Mr. Tidd would read a few lines and then go stamping across the floor, shaking his head and talking to himself as though he’d lost his mind. His hair, what there was of it, was all rumpled up, and he was so excited and afraid and fidgety he couldn’t keep still.

Mrs. Tidd was out cleaning up in the kitchen. That was just like her; she would have to go on working if a cyclone came and blew away the front of the house. Yes, sir, she’d keep right on scrubbing what was left.

The man with the silk hat pounded on the door two or three times before anybody heard him, but at last Mr. Tidd went poking out and opened the door a crack.

“Is this Mr. Tidd?” the man asked.

Mr. Tidd nodded, but didn’t say anything, because he didn’t think of anything to say.

“I,” says the man, “am Hamilton Carver, attorney for the International Engineering Company.”

“Oh,” Mr. Tidd says, in a dull sort of way, “be you?”

“Yes, sir.” Carver blew out his chest and looked important. “I came from Pittsburg to have a talk with you, sir.”

“From Pittsburg?” says Mr. Tidd. “From Pittsburg, eh? To talk with me? Um! Well, mister, there ain’t anything I want to talk about to-day. No, sir, not a thing.”

“But I have something I want to talk with you about, and it’ll be very much to your advantage to listen to me.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Mr. Tidd says, mostly to himself. “My son’s gone, and my turbine’s gone—everything’s gone. I’ve read the Decline and Fall, mister, for two hours. Two hours! But it hain’t helped none. I wisht I knew what to do.”

“May I come in?” asked the lawyer.

“Come in,” says Mr. Tidd, “and sit.”

They went into the parlor, where Carver sat down; but Mr. Tidd went right on pacing up and down as if he was all alone, reading away at the Decline and Fall, and mumbling, and shaking his head, and tugging away at his ear.

“I came,” says Carver, “to see you about your invention. I have been sent to negotiate with you—to—er—endeavor to enter into an—er—business arrangement with you.”

“Oh,” says Mr. Tidd. “Um!”

“Your invention may be valuable, and it may be worthless,” Carver went on.

But Mr. Tidd broke in, cross-like: “It ain’t worthless. It’s goin’ to—to revolutionize transportation, mister. It’s been tested; yes, sir, tested. No guess-work. It does what I said it would do. I know. But it’s been stole.”

Carver’s eyes twinkled, and he smiled to himself as if he was pretty well satisfied with something.

“You seem worried,” says he. “Maybe I can help clear things up for you.”

“Somebody’s run off with my model—night before last. Gone. Take six months to make another.”

“You’re in a pretty bad way, then, if they should go and get a patent on it, aren’t you? Looks as though you wouldn’t have a chance, doesn’t it?”

“Bad—it looks perty bad! I’ve thought and I’ve figgered. Readin’ the Decline and Fall don’t help none. First time it ever failed me. And my boy’s gone, too.”

“It’s fortunate I came, then,” says the lawyer. “I will be willing to make you an offer for your invention even under the circumstances. I can help you that much. Not a big offer, maybe, but a good offer, considering.”

“It ain’t no good with the model gone,” says Tidd, shaking his head despondent-like.

“My company will be willing to take the risk. What would you say if I was to offer to buy your invention and take all the worry right off your hands?”

“I dunno,” says Mr. Tidd. “I dunno what I would say.”

“I’ve got a paper here all drawn up. It’s an assignment of your rights, properly executed. You understand? A sort of deed, you know. Now the chances are you will never see your model again and that you won’t get a cent out of it. But we are willing to pay you something. It’s the only way you’ll ever get a penny.”

“Maybe so,” said Mr. Tidd. “I’m sort of confused to-day. Mark’s gone, and the turbine’s gone, and I can’t think very clear.”

“Whatever we pay you will be just that much you wouldn’t get if you don’t sell to us. Be a sensible man, now, and make the best of things. You’ve lost your machine. The wise thing to do is to get as much as you can and forget all about it. Go to inventing something else.”

“I sha’n’t ever invent anything else,” Mr. Tidd says, almost in a whisper.

Carver reached into his pocket and pulled out a big roll of bills. “See there,” he said. “I’ve got the money right in my hand.” He shook it in the air so the bills crinkled and crackled. “Remember, you’ll never have another chance. If you don’t sell to me now you’ll never get anything.”

“How much be you offerin’?”

“I’ll give you—five hundred dollars.”

Mr. Tidd shook his head slow and worried. “Don’t seem like that was enough. No, sir, that don’t seem enough nohow.”

“Well, I’ll stretch a point. Just sign your name to this assignment and I’ll give you seven hundred and fifty.”

Mr. Tidd walked to the table and took the fountain-pen the lawyer offered him. He held it in his hand and looked out of the window with tears standing in his eyes. “An’ I figgered it would make me rich. Seven hundred and fifty dollars. Oh, ho! Mister, it’s cost me more’n that to make the model. Oh, ho!”

“Sign right there,” said Carver, pointing to a line.

“Maybe I better speak to my wife about it first,” Mr. Tidd said, not being certain what he ought to do. I guess he didn’t really know just what he was doing.

“Nonsense,” the lawyer put in, quick. “Just sign right there, and the money’s yours. It’s just getting that much you never would get any other way.”

“I s’pose maybe so,” Mr. Tidd says, and drew up a chair to sign. The lawyer sat back and sort of held his breath until Mr. Tidd’s name should be written on his paper. Mr. Tidd looked at the pen, shook it a little, and leaned over the table. He made the first letter of his name when there was a whopping racket on the porch and Mark came running slam-bang into the house.

“D-d-dad!” he yelled. “Dad!”

Mr. Tidd looked up and then heaved a big sigh.

“Marcus,” he said, “you’re all right!”

Mark didn’t pay any attention. “Have you taken any money?” he said. “Have you s-s-signed anythin’?”

“I’m just a-goin’ to,” says Mr. Tidd. “I’m a-gittin’ what I kin. The engine’s gone—lost! I’m gittin’ what I kin.”

Well, Mark just reached for that paper and mussed it all up in his hand. He was so mad his fat cheeks shook. “You,” says he to Carver, “git right out of here! G-g-git!”

“Marcus,” says his father, in that mild way of his.

“He’s tryin’ to cheat you. He’s in with Batten and them folks.”

Uncle Ike and Mr. Whiteley and dad and I were all standing in the hall. Now Mr. Whiteley stepped into the room.

“I don’t know who you are,” says he to the lawyer, “but if you know what’s good for you you’ll take the first train out of town.”

“YOU GIT RIGHT OUT OF HERE! G-G-GIT!”

“But,” says Mr. Tidd, “but my turbine’s gone, and he’ll give me seven hundred—”

“Your turbine ain’t gone,” says Mark, stuttering so he could hardly speak. “It’s out in the wagon right this m-m-m—”

“Minute,” I says, to help him out.

The lawyer got up and edged around to the door. He didn’t say a word, but put on his hat and went out of the house quick; and that was the end of him.

Mr. Tidd sat like he was stunned, not knowing exactly what had happened, and turning from one to the other of us with the blankest look you ever saw.

“But,” says he, “what—”

Mr. Whiteley turned in then and told him the whole business. As he went along describing how Mark and I had gone after the engine Mr. Tidd kept looking at Mark and blinking; and pretty soon he stretched out his hand and took a hold of Mark and pulled him over close, hanging onto him tight. When Mr. Whiteley told about the way we stood the siege at the cave and fought Batten and Bill Mr. Tidd patted Mark soft-like with his hand and looked up at him that proud you’d never believe it. I felt funny to see him sitting there so kind of honest and simple and good. My throat ached and—well, I walked over and made believe I was looking out of the window.

When Mr. Whiteley was all done Mr. Tidd says, kind of choked up and broken; “I never heard anything like it—never. Man and boy I’ve been a-readin’ the Decline and Fall thirty-five years, and there ain’t a thing in it equal to this. Not a thing. No, sir.”

We didn’t stay very long after that, but went away and left Mark with his father and mother and the turbine. I never saw three folks so happy as they were, and I never saw two people as proud o............