“Say, will you?” cried Ray enthusiastically, “Great! Perhaps I’ll be able to go to school after all. It—ah—”
“Tut, tut, son. Don’t get too excited about the prospects. Remember, I didn’t say that you would get rich. It may not be a success, or—oh, a dozen things may happen to spoil the possibility of your getting any money out of it. Mighty few inventors ever get rich anyway. It is even possible that you can’t get a patent on it, for some one may have thought of the idea long ago. You’ll find when you get older that it is not an easy matter to get a device through the patent office. Many a man has spent a fortune and valuable time on an idea only to have it knocked on the head by some little detail.
“There’s the man who invented the periscope of the submarine, for instance. He worked out the contrivance and tried to have it patented only to find, after two years of hard work, that the Government would not allow a patent on it because some Frenchman, a long time before, had written a visionary story in which a device, similar to the one he had invented, had been suggested. The Frenchman had never tried to build his instrument, but, nevertheless, the Patent Office in Washington would not allow a patent on the practical appliance on the ground that it had been exploited before, and the inventor died a poor man, when he should have been wealthy.”
“That was hard luck,” said Ray; “but anyway, I’m mighty glad to find some one who will take enough interest in my work to try and help me. I have always—”
At this point came a violent thump-thump-thumping in the front room of the office, indicating that some one with a wooden appendage was approaching. All three looked up, expecting Old Mitchell to come through the door. They were not mistaken. The old lobsterman hobbled into the room, a broad grin wrinkling his face. But following immediately behind him was Ray’s Uncle Vance!
For a moment every one was silent! The situation was tense, for this was the first time that Ray and his kinsman had come face to face since the day, months before, when Big O’Brien had administered a liberal trouncing to the swordfisherman. Ray turned white and became very nervous, and Jack, for the moment, was breathless. But before either of the lads could speak Vance Carroll strode across the room and held out a big horny hand toward his nephew.
“Ray,” he said in a rough voice, “Mitchell here tells me you saved my life. Thank ye, lad, thank ye. I don’t know as it was wo’th savin’, but thank ye. Also I want to—ah—er—apologize fer ah—” (the gruff voice faltered for a moment)—“aw, shucks, I guess I wasn’t all that an’ uncle an’ on’y kin should hev been to ye, Ray, and I ax yer parding, Ray.”
“Pshaw, don’t mention it, Uncle Vance,” said Ray, tears starting to his eyes. “I guess I wasn’t such a very good boy either. I—”
“Oh, yes, you were. But I didn’t realize it until Mitchell here opened my eyes. We got a lot to thank him for, lad. He showed me what kind of a boy you are; he nursed me back on my feet again; and he tells me that he found your lifeboat model, too, which I flung overboard.”
“So he did and here it is,” said Ray, holding up the metal vessel.