"Just that exactly--similar things have been done a-plenty. People are
talking into the radio broadcasters and their voices are heard
distinctly thousands of miles. But, Mr. Hooper, you wouldn't know Mr.
Edison's voice if you heard it, would you?"

"N--no, can't say as how I would--but listen here. I do know a feller
what works with him--they say he's close to the ol' man. Bill Medders.
Knowed Bill when he was a little cack, knee-high to a grasshopper. They
say he wrote a book about Eddy's son. I'd know Bill Medder's voice if I
heard it in a b'iler factory."

Bill Brown could hardly repress a smile. "I guess you must mean William
H. Meadowcroft. His 'Boys' Life of Edison' sure is a dandy book. I liked
it best of all. Sometimes no one can see Mr. Edison for weeks at a time,
when he's buried in one of his 'world-beaters.' But I reckon we can let
you hear Mr. Meadowcroft's voice. He wrote me a pippin of a letter once
about the Chief."

"All righty. I'll take Medders's. I know Bill, an' you can't fool me on
that voice."

"Mr. Hooper, I'll tell you what," said the all-practical Bill eagerly.
"This demonstration will be almost as interesting to you as it is to us,
and you can help us out. We can get what little power we need from any
power plant. But we want a shop most of all--a loft or attic with room
enough to work in. We're going to get all the tools we need--"

"No. I'll get 'em fer you an' you kin have all that there room over the
garage." (The old gentleman pronounced this word as though it rhymed