Chapter IV

It was not till early May that I was shown, and, as the thing chanced, it was Forgan who then showed me.

I happened to come in when Ernie was not there. We spoke of him, and Forgan said,

“You know what that old guy’s done?” I shook my head. “Company’s backing him,” said Forgan. “He’s got a great thing. You come down-stairs.”

We went down to the machine shop under the receiving floor. Forgan unlocked the door, led me into a small room. On a bench was set up a tiny electric motor, harnessed to a wheel and connected with a simple bit of apparatus which had no meaning, at first sight, at all. But Forgan stopped the motor and made all clear to me. The power revolved a wooden spindle, which entered a hole in a steel block, whirling there. I could perceive no purpose in this, but Forgan said:

“It’s a test. It don’t do anything. Feel of it. Ain’t hot, is it?”

I touched the steel, touched the spindle that had been revolving so swiftly.

“No.”

“See if you can pull it out.” I tried, and failed. “Tight fit, you see,” Forgan told me. “But she’s been spinning in there for three days now, except when we stop her to measure once in a while. No oil, and no heat, and no wear.”

“But what’s it all about?” I asked.

“That’s an oilless bearing,” Forgan explained, a little disgusted with my stupidity. “Piece of hard wood, filled with oil. Use the stuff to make wrist-pins and all, and you’ll never have to oil your chassis at all.”

The thing broke upon me.

“But does it work?” I asked.

“You see it,” he said. “It works here. Well, it’ll work anywhere.”

“And Ernie figured that out?”

“He sure did.”

“Why, the man’s a genius!”

“Yeah. Ever since he went and got his picture took.”

“How does he make this, anyway--this bearing? Soak the wood in oil?”

Forgan laughed.

“Not as easy as that. He puts her in as hot as the devil, and under a lot of pressure. Don’t just know how. He won’t tell. He’s got a lay-off now to work it out. Figuring on cost. Cost’s too much now; but he’s going to figure to make it cheaper. He--”

Ernie himself came in just then. I hardly knew him. He had on a new suit of clothes; he was close-shaven, and his hair was trimmed. His bearing was that of a successful and confident man, and he nodded to the respectful Forgan as one nods to a chauffeur.

“How is she?” he asked.

“Cool as a cucumber,” Forgan assured him.

“Any wear?”

“I’ll see,” the foreman said with alacrity, and proceeded to dismantle the test-apparatus and apply a micrometer to the bearing. Ernie nodded to me, and I said,

“Seems like a fine thing.”

“It is,” he replied, positively and confidently, yet without a trace of arrogance or ugly pride. “Yes; it will do very well.”

“No wear at all,” Forgan reported, and Ernie nodded assent.

“Keep her going,” he directed.

While Forgan was setting the apparatus again in position, Ernie and I went up the stair together. He said, as we came to the main floor,

“By the way, that film, you know--”

“The one you were in--”

“Yes. It’s at the Globe next week.”

“I’ll surely go and see it,” I promised him.

We separated with a word, and I drove home, marveling at this new man that had been Ernie Budder--marveling at the power of suggestion. He had been told that he looked like a great inventor, and he had emerged from this experience stimulated, sure of himself, alert, and keen--a new man.

Such a slight fillip from the finger of Destiny to throw open before a man’s feet new and lofty ways--