practical resolutions. As long as she had anything to give, John
Henry should have it and be happy, and succeed, if success were
possible. She had saved most of her salary for a long time past,
spending as little as she well could on herself. He should have it all,
for love's sake, and because she believed in him, and because Christmas
was waking up, and had laid his great affectionate old hand on her.

So it came to pass that when Overholt was pottering over the beautiful
motionless Motor, late at night, sure that it would work if he had a
little more money, but still more sure that it must be sold for old
metal the next morning, to buy bread for the boy, even at that hour
help was near, and from the hand he loved best in the world, which would
make it ten thousand times sweeter when it reached him.

It was going to be an awful wrench to give up the invention, for now, at
the moment of abandoning it, he saw, or thought he saw, that he was
right at last, and that it could not fail. It was useless to try it as
it was, yet he would, just once more. He adjusted the tangent-balance
and the valves; he put in the supply of the chemical with the long name
and screwed down the hermetic plug. With the small hand air-pump he
produced the first vacuum which was necessary; all was ready, every
joint and stuffing-box was lubricated, the spring of the balance was
adjusted to a nicety. But the engine would not start, though he turned
the fly-wheel with his hand again and again, as if to encourage it. Of
course it would not turn alone! He understood perfectly that the one
piece on which all depended must be made over again, exactly the other
way. That was all!

There was the wooden model of it, all ready for the foundry that would
not cast it for nothing. If only the wooden piece would serve for a
moment's trial! But he knew that this was folly; it would not stand the
enormous strain an instant, and the joints could not possibly be made
air-tight.

He was utterly worn out by all he had been through during the long day,
and he fell asleep in his chair towards morning, his head on his breast,
his feet struck out straight before him, one arm hanging down beside him
and his other hand thrust into his pocket. He looked more like a shabby
lay figure stuffed with sawdust than like a living man. If Newton had
come down and found him lying there under the lamplight he would have
started back and shuddered, and waited a while before he could