"I—I've got to be pretty well off by the time I'm a man," confided George, "—for certain reasons," with a look and a tone as if two men should understand each other in some particulars without going too much into details.
"But—school, boy!" protested Mr. King, warningly. "You've got to be at school till you're grown up. You don't build horseless carriages with your hands, you know. You build them with your brains. You don't build a house or a locomotive or anything worth while first with your hands."
This was a devastating thought. George Judson considered doubtfully. He was in a hurry with life. Could he waste much more time on school?
"In your brains?" asked George, still mulling over the thought.
"Yes," said the inventor with laconic emphasis. "And then you build 'em on paper. Last of all you come here to a shop and build 'em of steel and wood." While he said this, Mr. King was unbuttoning those all-shrouding and greasespotted blue denims and peeling them off.
"It's too late to start work on the gears today," the inventor explained. "Besides, I'm tired and disappointed, and a little peeved at the old girl." He hung his overalls and cap on a peg and was taking down from sister pegs a coat and a derby hat.
