as soon as it had to halt for anything--a cab, a train, or a slower
mind to catch up--it got from under his control and it took hours to
get it back again.

To him money was only to be spent. He would say: "I spend money
because that calls for no mental effort, and saving is not worth the
trouble that it requires."

A big husky chap, thirty-four years old, with the constitution of an
ox, the mind of a superman, the simplicity of a child: that was John
Fulton Edestone. He insisted that his discovery was an accident that
might have befallen anyone, and counted as nothing the years of
endless experiments and the millions of dollars he had spent in
bringing it to perfection. He was a dreamer, and had used his colossal
income and at times his principal in putting his dreams into iron and
steel.

Upon arriving in New York he was met by his automobile and was rushed
away to what he was pleased to call his Little Place in the Country.
It was one of his father's old plants which had contributed to the
millions which he was now spending.

It was nothing more nor less than a combination machine shop and
shipyard, situated on the east bank of the Hudson in the neighbourhood
of Spuyten Duyvil.

It was midnight when he arrived. The night force was just leaving as
he stepped from his automobile and the morning shift was taking its
place. At eight o'clock the next morning this latter would in turn be
relieved by a day shift; for night and day, Sundays and holidays,