Little, in humble imitation of his sovereign, had employed a go-between to employ a go-between, to deal with the State go-betweens, and deputy-go-betweens, that hampered the purchase—­the word “grant” is out of place, bleeding is no boon—­of a patent from the crown, and by this means he had done, in sixty days, what a true inventor will do in twenty-four hours, whenever the various metallic ages shall be succeeded by the age of reason; he had secured his two saw-grinding inventions, by patent, in Great Britain, the Canadas, and the United States of America.  He had another invention perfected; it was for forging axes and hatchets by machinery:  but this he did not patent:  he hoped to find his remuneration in the prior use of it for a few months.  Mere priority is sometimes a great advantage in this class of invention, and there are no fees to pay for it nor deputy-lieutenant-vice-go-betweens’ antechambers for genius to cool its heels and heart in.

But one thing soon became evident.  He could not work his inventions without a much larger capital.

Dr. Amboyne and he put their heads together over this difficulty, and the doctor advised him in a more erudite style than usual.

“True invention,” said he, “whether literary or mechanical, is the highest and hardest effort of the mind.  It is an operation so absorbing that it often weakens those pettier talents which make what we call the clever man.  Therefore the inventor should ally himself with some person of talent and energy, but no invention.  Thus supported, he can have his fits of abstraction, his headaches, his heartaches, his exultations, his depressions, and no harm done; his dogged associate will plow steadily on all the time.  So, after all, your requiring capital is no great misfortune; you must look out for a working capitalist.  No sleeping partner will serve your turn; what you want is a good rich, vulgar, energetic man, the pachydermatouser the better.”

Henry acted on this advice, and went to London in search of a moneyed partner.  Oh, then it was he learned—­

“The hell it is in suing long to bide.”

He found capitalists particularly averse to speculate in a patent.  It took him many days to find out what moneyed men were open to that sort of thing at all; and, when he got to them, they were cold.

They had all been recently bitten by harebrained inventors.

Then he represented that it was a matter of judgment, and offered to prove by figures that his saw-grinding machines must return three hundred per cent.  These he applied to would not take the trouble to study his figures.  In another words, he came at the wrong time.  And the wrong time is as bad as the wrong thing, or worse.

Take a note of that, please:  and then forget it.

At last he gave up London in despair, and started for Birmingham.