“Goodness knows I concede that, with all my heart.”

“Very well.  When you’ve found out the source of a disease, you’ve also found out what remedy is required—­just as in this case.  In this case money is required.  And only money.”

The old, old seduction was in that airy, confident tone and those significant words—­usually called pregnant words in books.  The old answering signs of faith and hope showed up in Hawkins’s countenance, and he said: 

“Only money?  Do you mean that you know a way to—­”

“Washington, have you the impression that I have no resources but those I allow the public and my intimate friends to know about?”

“Well, I—­er—­”

“Is it likely, do you think, that a man moved by nature and taught by experience to keep his affairs to himself and a cautious and reluctant tongue in his head, wouldn’t be thoughtful enough to keep a few resources in reserve for a rainy day, when he’s got as many as I have to select from?”

“Oh, you make me feel so much better already, Colonel!”

“Have you ever been in my laboratory?”

“Why, no.”

“That’s it.  You see you didn’t even know that I had one.  Come along.  I’ve got a little trick there that I want to show you.  I’ve kept it perfectly quiet, not fifty people know anything about it.  But that’s my way, always been my way.  Wait till you’re ready, that’s the idea; and when you’re ready, zzip!—­let her go!”

“Well, Colonel, I’ve never seen a man that I’ve had such unbounded confidence in as you.  When you say a thing right out, I always feel as if that ends it; as if that is evidence, and proof, and everything else.”

The old earl was profoundly pleased and touched.

“I’m glad you believe in me, Washington; not everybody is so just.”

“I always have believed in you; and I always shall as long as I live.”

“Thank you, my boy.  You shan’t repent it.  And you can’t.”  Arrived in the “laboratory,” the earl continued, “Now, cast your eye around this room—­what do you see?  Apparently a junk-shop; apparently a hospital connected with a patent office—­in reality, the mines of Golconda in disguise!  Look at that thing there.  Now what would you take that thing to be?”

“I don’t believe I could ever imagine.”

“Of course you couldn’t.  It’s my grand adaptation of the phonograph to the marine service.  You store up profanity in it for use at sea.  You know that sailors don’t fly around worth a cent unless you swear at them—­so the mate that can do the best job of swearing is the most valuable man.  In great emergencies his talent saves the ship.  But a ship is a large thing, and he can’t be everywhere at once; so there have been times when one mate has lost a ship which could have been saved if they had had a hundred.  Prodigious storms, you know.  Well, a ship can’t afford a hundred mates; but she can afford a hundred Cursing Phonographs, and distribute them all over the vessel—­and there, you see, she’s armed at every point.  Imagine a big storm, and a hundred of my machines all cursing away at once—­splendid spectacle, splendid!—­you couldn’t hear yourself think.  Ship goes through that storm perfectly serene—­she’s just as safe as she’d be on shore.”