I confess that I was still haunted by a lingering suspicion of the machine and its inventor; but this experiment went far to destroy it.  Even if the motive power was derived from a coiled spring, or compressed air, or electricity, in the box, how was it possible to make it act without the resistance offered by the air?  Magnetism was equally out of the question, since no conceivable arrangement of magnets could have brought about the movements I had seen.  Either I was hypnotised, and imposed upon, or else this man had discovered what had been unknown to science.  His earnest and straightforward manner was not that of a mountebank.  There had been no attempt to surround his work with mystery, and cloak his demonstration in unmeaning verbiage.  It is true I had never heard of him in the world of science, but after all an outsider often makes a great discovery under the nose of the professors.

“Am I to understand,” said I, “that you have found a way of navigating both the atmosphere and the ether?”

“As you see,” he replied, briefly.

“What the model has done, you are able to do on a larger scale—­in a practical manner?”

“Assuredly.  It is only a matter of size.”

“And you can maintain the motion?”

“As long as you like.”

“Marvellous!  And how is it done?”

“Ah!” exclaimed the inventor, “that is my secret.  I am afraid I must not answer that question at present.”

“Is the plan not patented?”

“No.  The fact is, I have not yet investigated the subject as fully as I would like.  My mind is not quite clear as to the causes of the phenomena.  I have discovered a new field of research, and great discoveries are still to be made in it.  Were I to patent the machine, I should have to divulge what I know.  Indeed, but for the sake of my daughter, I am not sure that I should ever patent it.  Even as it stands, it will revolutionise not merely our modes of travel, but our industries.  It has been to me a labour of love, not of money; and I would gladly make it a gift of love to my fellowmen.”

“It is the right spirit,” said I; “and I have no doubt that a grateful world would reward you.”

“I wouldn’t like to trust it,” replied Mr. Carmichael, with a smile and shrug of the shoulders.  “How many inventors has it doomed to pine in poverty and neglect, or die of a broken heart?  How often has it stolen, aye stolen, the priceless fruits of their genius and labour?  Speaking for myself, I don’t complain; I haven’t had much to do with it.  My withdrawal from it has been voluntary.  I was born in the south of Scotland, and educated for the medical profession; but I emigrated to America, and was engaged in one of Colonel Fremont’s exploring expeditions to the Rocky Mountains.  After that I was appointed to the chair of Physical Science in a college of Louisville, Kentucky, where my daughter was born.  One day, when I was experimenting