up debit and credit so disgracefully.

He sat there half an hour, as he had let himself fall forward, only
moving a little, so that his forehead rested on his arm instead of his
hands, because that was a little more comfortable, and just then he did
not want to see anything, least of all the Motor. When he rose at last
the sleeve of his coat was all wet with the perspiration from his
forehead. He left the workshop, half shutting his eyes in order not to
see the Motor; he was sure the thing was grinning at him behind the
plate glass. It had two round brass valves near the top that looked
like yellow eyeballs, and a lever at the bottom with double arms and a
cross-bar, which made him think of an iron jaw when he was in one of his
fits of nervous depression.

But John Henry Overholt was a man, and an honest one. He went straight
to the writing-table in the next room and sat down, and though his hand
shook, he wrote a clear and manly letter to the President of the College
where he had taught so well, stating his exact position, acknowledging
the failure of his invention, and asking help to find immediate
employment as a teacher, even in the humblest capacity which would
afford bread for his boy and himself. Presidents and principals of
colleges are in constant communication with other similar institutions,
and generally know of vacant positions.

When he had written his letter and read it over carefully, Overholt
looked at his timetable, got his hat, coat, and umbrella, and trudged
off through the slushy snow to the station, on his way to New York.

It was raining there, but it was not dismal; hurry, confusion, and noise
can never be that. He had not been in the city since the day when he