"Ten years ago two young men who had studied and graduated together at
the same college were struggling together in their profession as civil
engineers. One was Clive Lepage and the other was Jaspar Hume. The one
was brilliant and persuasive, the other, persistent and studious. Lepage
could have succeeded in any profession; Hume had only heart and mind for
one.

"Only for one, Bouche, you understand. He lived in it, he loved it, he
saw great things to be achieved in it. He had got an idea. He worked at
it night and day, he thought it out, he developed it, he perfected it, he
was ready to give it to the world. But he was seized with illness, became
blind, and was ordered to a warm climate for a year. He left his idea,
his invention, behind him--his complete idea. While he was gone his bosom
friend stole his perfected idea--yes, stole it, and sold it for twenty
thousand dollars. He was called a genius, a great inventor. And then he
married her. You don't know her, Bouche. You never saw beautiful Rose
Varcoe, who, liking two men, chose the one who was handsome and
brilliant, and whom the world called a genius. Why didn't Jaspar Hume
expose him, Bouche? Proof is not always easy, and then he had to think of
her. One has to think of a woman in such a case, Bouche. Even a dog can
see that."

He was silent for a moment, and then he said: "Come, Bouche. You will
keep secret what I show you."

He went to a large box in the corner, unlocked it, and took out a model
made of brass and copper and smooth but unpolished wood.

"After ten years of banishment, Bouche, Hume has worked out another idea,