into the woods. I thought, as you were comin' home so soon, I
wouldn't do nothin' more. You had better attend to him
yourself."

"Very good," said Clewe. "I'll do that."

The home of Roland Clewe, a small house plainly furnished, but
good enough for a bachelor's quarters, stood not half a mile from
the station, and near it were the extensive buildings which he
called his Works. Here were laboratories, large machine-shops in
which many men were busy at all sorts of strange contrivances in
metal and other materials; and besides other small edifices there
was a great round tower-like structure, with smooth iron walls
thirty feet high and without windows, and which was lighted and
ventilated from the top. This was Clewe's special workshop; and
besides old Samuel Block and such workmen as were absolutely
necessary and could be trusted, few people ever entered it but
himself. The industries in the various buildings were diverse,
some of them having no apparent relation to the others. Each of
them was expected to turn out something which would revolutionize
something or other in this world, but it was to his lens-house
that Roland Clewe gave, in these days, his special attention.
Here a great enterprise was soon to begin, more important in his
eyes than anything else which had engaged human endeavor.

When sometimes in his moments of reflection he felt obliged to
consider the wonders of applied electricity, and give them their
due place in comparison with the great problem he expected to
solve, he had his moments of doubt. But these moments did not
come frequently. The day would arrive when from his lens-house