But no such worthy and confiding manufacturer appeared, even on the evening of the second day, when the wooden model was beautifully finished and ready for the foundry.  While the inventor was busy, Newton had worked alone in a corner when he had time to spare from his lessons, but he understood what was going on, and he did not accomplish much beyond painting the front of the National Bank in the City of Hope and planning a possible Wild West Show to be set up on the outskirts; the tents would be easy to make, but the horses were beyond his skill, or his father’s; it would not be enough that they should have a leg at each corner and a head and a tail.

He understood well enough what was the matter, for he had seen similar things happen before.  A pessimist is defined to be a person who has lived with an optimist, and every inventor is that.  Poor Newton had seen that particular part of the engine spoiled and made over three times, and he understood perfectly that it was all wrong again and must be cast once more.  But he kept his reflections to himself and tried to think about the City of Hope.

“I wish,” said John Henry, sitting down opposite the boy at last, and looking at what he had done, “that the National Bank in Main Street were real!”

He eyed it wistfully.

“Oh well,” answered the boy, “we couldn’t rob it, because that’s stealing, so I don’t see what particular good it would do!”

“Perhaps the business people in the City of Hope would be different from the bankers in New York,” observed Overholt, thoughtfully.

“I don’t believe it, father,” Newton answered in a sceptical tone.  “If they were bankers they’d be rich, and you remember the sermon Sunday before last, about it’s being easier for the camel to get through the rich man—­no, which is it?  I forget.  It doesn’t matter, anyway, because we can imagine any kind of people we choose in our city, can’t we?  Say, father, what’s the matter?  Are you going to cast that piece over again?  That’ll be the fourth time, won’t it?”

“It would be, my boy, but it won’t be.  They won’t cast it for nothing, and I cannot raise the money.  You cannot make bricks without straw.”

He looked steadily down at the tiny front of the Bank in Main Street, and a hungry look came into his eyes.

But Newton had a practical mind, even at thirteen.

“I was thinking,” he said presently.  “It looks as if we were going to get stuck some day.  What are we going to do then, father?  I was thinking about it just now.  How are we going to get anything to eat if we have no money?”

“I shall have to go back to teaching mathematics for a living, I suppose.”

“And give up the Motor?” Newton had never yet heard him suggest such a thing.

“Yes,” Overholt answered in a low tone; and that was all he said.

“Oh, that’s ridiculous.  You’d just die, that’s all!”