At last the tender of Mr. White was accepted, and as Mr. Bolt, experienced in the delays of builders, tied him tight as to time, he, on his part, made a prompt and stringent contract with Messrs. Whitbread, the brickmakers, and began to dig the foundations.

All this Henry communicated to Grace, and was in high spirits over it, and then so was she.  He had a beautiful frame made for the little picture she had given him, and hung it up in his studio.  It became the presiding genius, and indeed the animating spirit, of his life.

Both to him and Grace the bright and hopeful period of their love had come at last.  Even Bolt contributed something to Little’s happiness.  The man, hard as he was in business, was not without a certain rough geniality; and then he was so brisk and bustling.  His exuberant energy pleased the inventor, and formed an agreeable relief to his reveries and deep fits of study.

The prospect was bright, and the air sunny.  In the midst of all which there rose in the horizon a cloud, like that seen by Elijah’s servant, a cloud no bigger than a man’s hand.

Bolt burst into the studio one day, like a shell, and, like a shell, exploded.

“Here’s a pretty go!  We’re all at a standstill.  The brickmakers have struck.”

“Why, what is the matter?”

“Fourpence.  Young Whitbread, our brickmaker’s son, is like you—­a bit of an inventor; he altered the shape of the bricks, to fit a small hand-machine, and Whitbreads reckoned to save tenpence a thousand.  The brickmakers objected directly.  Whitbreads didn’t want a row, so they offered to share the profit.  The men sent two of their orators to parley; I was standing by Whithread when they came up; you should have heard ’em; anybody would have sworn the servants were masters, and the masters negro slaves.  When the servants had hectored a bit, the masters, meek and mild, said they would give them sixpence out of the tenpence sooner than they should feel dissatisfied.  No; that wouldn’t do.  ’Well, then,’ says young Whitbread, ‘are you agreed what will do?’ ‘Well,’ said one of the servants, ’we will allow you to make the bricks, if you give us the tenpence.’”

“That was cool,” said Henry.  “To be sure, all brainless beggars try to starve invention.”

“Yes, my man:  and you grumbled at my taking two-thirds.  Labor is harder on you inventors than capital is, you see.  Well, I told ’em I wondered at their cheek; but the old man stopped me, and spoke quite mild:  says he, ’You are too hard on us; we ought to gain a trifle by our own improvement; if it had come from you, we should pay you for it;’ and he should stand by his offer of sixpence.  So then the men told them it would be the worse for them, and the old gentleman gave a bit of sigh, and said he couldn’t help that, he must live in the trade, or leave it, he didn’t much care which.  Next morning they all struck work; and there we are—­stopped.”