chuckling with pride, George went back to town and sold the horse and buggy.
"The day of the horse is over," he said to himself, but required the man who had bought the outfit to drive him to the shop of Milton Morris on Franklin Street.
But where, by the way, was Charlie King? In Paris—painting pictures. Where was his factory? He had none—at this time. That George did not have himself driven to the factory of R. E. Olds instead merely showed his independence. Olds had the great successful factory; it became the school from which graduated so many able men into the ranks of the industry, but for reasons which seemed good to him young Judson's choice had fallen upon Milton Morris.
