about one-tenth of the people in boston are british canadians, mostly from the maritime provinces, an acquisitive prudent folk who see naught to be gained by correcting casual acquaintances who mistake them for down-east yankees. often, indeed, they are descendants of hezekiahs and priscillas who, having been royalists during the war of independence, found subsequent emigration to a british country incumbent on their puritan consciences. these americans, returned to the ancestral new england after four or five generations of absence, commonly find boston ways surprisingly congenial, though they continue to cherish pride in british origin, and a decent warmth of regard for fellow natives of the maritime provinces. hence a known canadian is frequently addressed by an unsuspected one with, "i am from canada, too." having learned this from ten years' experience, i was little surprised when old adam bemis, meeting me on the corner of tremont and boylston streets, in may, 1915, stopped and stealthily whispered, "i am from yarmouth, nova scotia."

"really! i have always taken you for one of the prevalent minority, a man from the state of maine."

"most folks do. it doesn't vex me any more. but i've wanted to tell you any time the last ten years."

"then, why didn't you?"

"it's not my way to hurry. you will understand that well when i explain. i'm needing friendly advice."

he had ever worn the air of preoccupation during our twelve years' acquaintance, but that seemed proper to an inventor burdened with the task of devising and selecting novelties for the annual announcement by which miss minnely's prize package department furthers the popularity of her famous family blessing. the happy possessor of five new subscription certificates, on remitting them to adam's department, receives by mail, prepaid, number 1 prize package. number 2 falls to the collector of ten such certificates; and so on, in gradations of miss minnely's shrewd beneficence. the magnifico of one thousand certificates obtains choice between a gasoline auto-buggy and a new england farm. to be ever adding to or choosing from the world's changing assortment of moral mechanical toys, celluloid table ornaments, reversible albums, watches warranted gold filled, books combining thrill with edification, and more or less similar "premiums" to no calculable end, might well account for old adam's aspect, at once solemn and unsettled.

"what is your trouble?" i enquired.

"the odistor. my greatest discovery!" he whispered.

"indeed! for your department?"

"we will see about that. it is something mighty wonderful—i don't know but i should say almighty."

"goodness! what is its nature?"

"i won't say—not here. you couldn't believe me without seeing it work—i wouldn't have believed it myself on anybody's word. i will bring it on to your lodgings—that's a good place for the exhibition. no—i won't even try to explain here—we might be overheard." he glanced up and down tremont street, then across—"sh—there she is herself!" he dodged into a drug store opposite the touraine.

miss mehitable minnely, sole proprietor of the family blessing, was moving imposingly from the boylston street front of the hotel toward her auto-brougham. at the top step she halted and turned her cordial, broad, dominant countenance in both directions as if to beam on streets crowded with potential prize-package takers. she then spoke the permitting word to two uniformed deferential attendants, who proceeded to stay her carefully by the elbows, in her descent of the stone steps. foot passengers massed quickly on both sides of her course, watching her large, slow progress respectfully. when the porters had conveyed her across the pavement, and with deferential, persistent boosting made of her an ample lading for the "auto," the chauffeur touched his wide-peaked cap, and slowly rolled her away towards brimstone corner en route to the blessing building. adam came out of the drug store looking relieved.

"she doesn't like to see any of us on the street, office hours," he explained with lips close to my ear. "not that i ought to care one mite." he smiled somewhat defiantly and added, "to see me dodging the old lady's eye you'd never guess i'm her boss. but i am." he eyed my wonder exultantly and repeated, "it's so. she doesn't know it. nobody knows, except me. but i am her boss. just whenever i please."

on my continued aspect of perturbation he remarked, coolly:—"naturally you think my head is on wrong. but you will know better this evening. i'm the world's boss whenever i choose to take the responsibility. if i don't choose, she goes on being my boss, and, of course, i'll want to hold down my job. well, good-day for the present. or, say—i forgot—will it suit you if i come about half-past-five? i can't get there much earlier. she's not too well pleased if any of us leave before park street clock strikes five."

"very well, mr. bemis—half past. i shall expect you."

"expect a surprise, too."

he walked circumspectly across boylston street through the contrary processions of vehicles, to the edging pavement of the common, on his way toward the new old state house, and miss minnely's no less immense family blessing building.

it was precisely twenty-six minutes past five when adam entered my private office in the rear room of the ground floor of a sky-scraper which overlooks that reach of charles river lying between the union boat club house and the long, puritanic, impressive simplicity of harvard bridge. he did not greet me, being preoccupied with the brown paper-covered package under his left arm. with a certain eagerness in his manner, he placed this not heavy burden on the floor, so that it was hidden by the broad table-desk at which i sat. he stooped. i could hear him carefully untie the string and open the clattering paper.

he then placed on the green baize desk-cover a bulbous object of some heavy metal resembling burnished steel. it was not unlike a large white bermuda onion with a protuberant stem or nozzle one inch long, half-an-inch in diameter, and covered by a metal cap. obviously; the bulb was of two equal parts, screwed together on a plane at right angles to the perpendicular nozzle. an inch of the upper edge of the lower or basic part was graduated finely as a vernier scale. the whole lower edge of the upper half was divided, apparently into three hundred and sixty degrees, as is the horizontal circle of a theodolite. the parts were fitted with a clamp and tangent screw, by which the vernier could be moved with minutest precision along the graduated circle.

"i was four years experimenting before i found out how to confine it," said adam.

"what? a high explosive!"

"no—nothing to be nervous about. but what it is i can't exactly say."

"a scientific mystery, eh?"

"it might be called so, seeing as i don't myself know the real nature of the force any more than electricians know what electricity is. they understand how to generate and employ it, that's all. did you ever see a whirlwind start?"

"no."

"think again. not even a little one?"

"of course i have often seen little whirlwinds on the street carrying up dust and scraps of paper, sometimes dropping them instantly, sometimes whirling them away."

"on calm days?"

"really i can't remember. but i think not. it doesn't stand to reason."

"that's where you are mistaken. it is in the strongest kind of sunshine on dead calm days that those little whirlwinds do start. what do you suppose starts them?"

"i never gave it a thought."

"few do. i've given it years of close thinking. you have read of ships on tropic seas in dead calm having top-sails torn to rags by whirlwinds starting 'way up there, deck and sea quiet as this room?"

"i've read of that. but i don't believe all the wonderful items i read in the papers."

"there are more wonders than the papers print. i saw that happen twice in the indian ocean, when i was a young man. i have been studying more or less on it ever since. now i will show you the remainder of my odistor. i call it that because folks when i was young used to talk of a mysterious odic force."

to the desk he lifted a black leather grip-sack, as narrow, as low, and about twice as long as one of those in which surgeons carry their implements. from this he extracted a simple-seeming apparatus which i still suppose to have been of the nature of an electric machine. externally it resembled a rectangular umbrella box of metal similar to that of the bulb. it was about four feet in length and four inches in height and in breadth. that end which he placed nearest the window was grooved to receive one-half the bulb accurately. clamped longitudinally to the top of the box was a copper tube half-an-inch in exterior diameter, and closed, except for a pinhole sight, at the end farthest from the window. the other, or open end, was divided evenly by a perpendicular filament apparently of platinum.

adam placed this sighted box on the green baize, its longer axis pointing across the charles river to cambridge, through the window. he carefully propped up the wire-net sash. stooping at the desk he looked through the pin-hole sight and shifted the box to his satisfaction.

"squint along the line of sight," he said, giving place to me. i stooped and complied.

"you see memorial hall tower right in the line?"

"precisely."

"but what is nearest on the cambridge shore?"

"the stone revetment wall."

"i mean next beyond that."

"the long shed with the big sign 'builders' in black letters."

"all right. sit here and watch that shed. no matter if it blows away. they were going to tear it down anyway." he placed my chair directly behind the sighted tube.

with an access of eagerness in his countenance, and something of tremor apparent in his clutching fingers, he lifted the bulb, unscrewed its metal cap and worked the tangent screw while watching the vernier intently. he was evidently screwing the basal half closer to the nozzle-bearing upper portion.

from a minute orifice in the nozzle or stem something exuded that appeared first as a tiny, shimmering, sunbright, revolving globule. at that instant he placed the bulb on its base in its niche or groove at the outer or window end of the sighted box. thus the strange revolving globule was rising directly in the line of sight.

"watch that shed," adam ordered hoarsely.

i could not wholly take my eyes off the singular sphere, which resembled nothing that i have elsewhere seen so much as a focus of sun rays from a burning glass. but this intensely bright spot or mass—for it appeared to have substance even as the incandescent carbon of an edison lamp seems to possess substance exterior to the carbon—rose expanding in an increasing spiral within an iridescent translucent film that clung by a tough stem to the orifice of the nozzle, somewhat as a soap-bubble clings to the pipe whence it is blown. yet this brilliant, this enlarging, this magic globule was plainly whirling on its perpendicular axis as a waterspout does, and that with speed terrific. the mere friction of its enclosing film on the air stirred such wind in the room as might come from an eighteen-inch electric fan. in shape the infernal thing rapidly became an inverted cone with spiral convolutions. it hummed like a distant, idly-running circular saw, a great top, or the far-off, mysterious forewarning of a typhoon.

"now!" adam touched a button on the top of the metal box.

the gleaming, whirling, humming, prismatic spiral was then about eighteen inches high. it vanished without sound or spark, as if the film had been totally destroyed and the contained incandescence quenched on liberation. for one instant i experienced a sense of suffocation, as if all the air had been drawn out of the room. the inner shutters clashed, the holland sunshade clattered, the door behind me snicked open, air from the corridor rushed in.

"see the river!" adam was exultant, but not too excited to replace the metal cap on the nozzle.

certainly the charles river was traversed by a gust that raised white caps instantly. a bulk-headed sailing-dory, owned by a union boat clubman whom i knew, lay over so far that her sail was submerged, and her centre-board came completely out of water. only the head and clutching forearms of the two men aboard her could be seen. afterward they told me they had been quite surprised by the squall. beyond the cambridge revetment wall a wide cloud of dust sprang up, hiding the "builders" shed.

when this structure reappeared adam gasped, then stood breathless, his countenance expressive of surprise.

he looked down at the odistor, pondering, left hand fingers pressing his throbbing temple. lifting the bulb he inspected the vernier, laid it down again, put on his spectacles and once more peered intently at the graduated scale.

"i see," he said, "i was the least thing too much afraid of doing damage in cambridge back of the shed. but you saw the wind?"

"certainly i saw wind."

"you know how it started?"

"i don't know what to think. it was very strange. what is the stuff?"

"tell me what starts the whirlwind or the cyclone, and i can tell you that. all i'm sure of is that i can originate the force, control it, and release it in any strength i choose. do you remember the chap called ?olus we used to read about in the latin book at school, he that bagged up the winds long ago? i guess there was truth at the back of that fable. he found out the secret before me, and he used it to some extent. it died with him, and they made a god out of his memory—they had some right to be grateful that he spared them. it must go to the grave with me—so far as i've reasoned on the situation. but that's all right. what's worrying me is the question—shall i make any use of it?"

"i can see no use for it."

"what! think again. it is the irresistible force. there is no withstanding it. i can start a stronger hurricane than ever yet blew. you remember what happened to that hawaiian island in the tornado last year? that was a trifle to what i can do. it is only a matter of confining a larger quantity in a stronger receiver and giving it a swifter send off with a more powerful battery. i can widen the track and lengthen the course to any extent."

"suppose you can. still it is only a destroyer. what's the good of it?"

"what's the good of a krupp gun. or a shell. or a bullet?"

"they are saleable."

he looked keenly at me for some seconds. "do you see that far, or do you only not see how it could be used as a weapon? that's it, eh! well, i'll tell you. there's england spending more'n ten million dollars a day in the war. suppose i go to lord kitchener. he's a practical, quick man—in half an hour he sees what i can do. 'what will you give,' i ask him, 'to have the crown prince and the rest of them prussians blown clear away?' 'what is your price?' he inquires. 'ten million pounds would be cheap,' i reply. 'take five,' he says, 'we are not made of money.' 'well, seeing it's you,' i tell him."

"it is a considerable discount, adam. but then you are a british subject."

"yes—kind of. but the conversation was imaginary. discount or no discount, i feel no special call to blow away whole armies of germans. if i could set the odistor on the kaiser, and the crown prince, and a dozen or so more of the prussian gang, i'd do it, of course. but how could i find just where they were? blowing away whole armies of men don't seem right to me."

"but you needn't do that yourself. sell your secret outright to the british government."

adam stared as one truly astonished.

"now what you think you're talking about?" he remonstrated. "can't you see farther than that? suppose i sell the secret to kitchener. suppose he clears out all the germans with it. what next? why, ireland! kitchener is a jingo imperialist, which i never was and never will be. i've heard of jingoes saying time and again that england's interests would be suited if ireland was ten feet under water. or suppose he only blows the irish out of connaught, just to show the others they'd better cut out the sinn finn. what then? first place, i like the irish. my wife's irish. next, consider all the world. suppose england has got the irresistible weapon. there's no opposing it. suppose france was to try, some time after this war is over. away go her cities, farms, vineyards, people, higher than gilroy's kite. what next? all the rest of the world then know they must do what the english say—germans, italians, russians, yankees, canadians. now i'm a cosmopolitan, i am. all kind of folk look good to me."

"but england ruling the world means universal peace," i said enthusiastically. "free trade, equal rights, all the grand altruistic english ideals established forever and ever! adam, let england have it! you'll be remembered as the greatest benefactor of humanity. a bemis statue in trafalgar square, london! sure! think of that glory, adam."

"for putting the english on top," he replied dryly. "i can't seem to want to. not but what the english are all right. but my kind of maritime province canadians are considerably more american than english, though they never rightly know it till they've lived here and in the old country. we're at home with yankee ways and yankee notions. in england we're only colonials. not but what the war may change that a bit."

"take your secret to washington then. president wilson will see that you get all that you can reasonably ask for it."

"sure—but while the pro-german microbe is active in washington, i will not offer the thing there. yet my first notion was to let the united states have it—on conditions."

"what conditions?"

"well, i'd bargain they must leave canada alone. woodrow would boss the rest of the world, i was thinking, just the way i'll do it myself if ever i do make up my mind. no bossing—everybody free and equal and industrious—no aristocracy, except just enough to laugh at—no domineering. but i ain't so pleased with woodrow as i was when he started presidenting. he ain't set the filipinos free yet. and he knowing how bad they was treated by this republic. why, the worst grab ever england made wasn't a circumstance to yankees allying with aguinaldo, and then seizing his country."

"to what government will you sell?" i inquired patiently.

"well, now, if i was going to sell to any government it would be sir wilfrid laurier's. but he's got no government, now. ontario folks beat him last election, for being too reasonable. if ever there was the makings of a good benevolent despot, laurier's the man. i used to be saying to myself while i was perfecting the odistor, says i inwardly, 'i'll give it to laurier.' of course, i was calculating he'd use it first thing to annex the united states to canada. that would be good for both countries—if laurier was on top. he'd give this republic responsible government, stop letting it be run by hole-and-corner committees and trusts and billionaires, and, first of all, he'd establish free trade all over the continent. that would be good for nova scotia apple-growers, and, mind you, i'd like to do something for my native province before i die. statue in trafalgar square, says you. think of a statue in halifax—erected to me! 'adam bemis, benefactor of nova scotia!' and a big apple-tree kind of surrounding my figure with blessings! sounds kind of good, eh. why don't i give it to laurier? well he's getting old. he ain't any too strong in health, either. he mightn't live long enough to get things running right. and he'd be sure to tell his colleagues how the odistor is worked—he's such a strong party man. that's the only fault he's got. well, now, think what happens after he drops out. why, some ordinary cuss of his party takes over the bossdom of the world. now, all ordinary canadian politicians are hungry to be knighted, or baroneted. laurier's successor, likely enough, would give away the odistor to england, in return for a handle to his name. and once england got the odistor—why, you know what i told you before."

"well, what government will you sell to?"

"to none. germany's out of the question, of course. france, russia, italy, japan—they're all unfitter than england, canada or the states. once i planned to raise up the people that are down—the poles, irish, armenians, filipinos, and so on. then i got to fancying the irish with power to blow everything above rock in england out to sea. would they be satisfied with moving the imperial parliament to college green, giving england a viceroy and local councils, putting a catholic king in george's shoes and fixing the coronation oath to abjuring protestant errors? i can't seem to think they'd be so mild. what would the poles do to the prussians, austrians, and russians; or the armenians to the turks, if i gave them the odistor? no—i won't take such risks. if i gave the thing to one nation the only fair deal would be to give it to all, big and little alike, making the smallest as powerful as the biggest, everyone with power to blow all the others off the footstool. what then? would mutual fear make them live peaceably? i'm feared not. probably every one would be so afraid of every other that each would be for getting its odistors to work first. there'd be cyclones jamming into cyclones all over outdoors, a teetotal destruction of crops, and everything and everybody blown clean away at once. wonder where they'd light?"

his query, did not divert me from the main matter. "if you won't sell, how can you get any money out of it?" i asked.

"no difficulty getting money out of it. here i am able to blow everything away—say berlin and thereabouts for a starter, just to show how the thing works. then all hands would know i could blow away all europe—except maybe the alps. i don't know exactly how strong the odistor could blow. wouldn't all the governments unite to pay me not to do it. see? all the money john rockefeller ever handled wouldn't pay five minutes' interest on what i ought to get for just not doing it. no harm in not hurting anybody—see? and me working for miss minnely for forty-five dollars a week!"

"resign, adam," i said earnestly, for the financial prospect was dazzling. "take me in as junior partner. let us get at this thing together."

"what? blackmailing the nations! and you a professional liberal like myself! no! it wouldn't be straight. i can't have a partner—you'll see that before i get through. but now i suppose that you will admit that i could get any amount of money out of the thing?"

"you have thought it all out wonderfully, adam."

"wish i could stop thinking about it. i'm only taking you gradually over the field—not telling my conclusions yet—but only some of my thoughts by the way. in fact it's years since i gave up the notion of opening the secret to any nation, or to all nations. for one thing i couldn't get into any nation's possession if i wanted to. suppose, for instance, i offered it to the washington administration. naturally the president orders experts to report on it—say six army engineers. i show them how. what happens? why, those six men are bosses of the administration, the nation and all the world. they can't but see that right away if they've got any gumption. will they abstain from using the power? scarcely. will they stick together and boss? they won't, because they can't. it is not in human nature. common sense, common logic, would compel each one to try to get his private odistor going first, for fear each of the others might be for blowing him and the other four away in order to boss alone. fact is, the moment i showed the process to any other man—and this is why i can't take you in as partner—i'd have to blow him straight away out beyond cape cod, for fear he would send me flying soon as he saw universal bossdom in his hands."

"that seems inevitable," i admitted.

"certainly. i can't risk the human race under any boss except myself—or somebody that i am sure means as well as i do."

"our political principles are in many respects the same," i suggested, hopefully.

"will you—will any man except me—would even laurier stay liberal if he had absolute power? what would you do with the odistor anyway?"

"get a fortune out of it."

"how?"

"well, we might try this scheme—detain ocean liners in port until the companies agreed to pay what the traffic will bear."

"gosh—you think i've got the conscience of a railway corporation? no, sir! but what use in prolonging this part of our talk? i have thought of a thousand ways of using the thing on a large scale, but they are all out of the question, for one good and sufficient reason—folks would lock me up or kill me if i once convinced 'em of the power i possess. i couldn't blame them, they must do it to feel safe themselves. the only sure way for me to get big money out of it safely would be by retiring to a lonely sea island and advertising what i intended to do on a specified day—blow away some forest on the mainland, say, or send a blast straight overland to the rockies and clear them of snow in a path fifty miles wide. of course, folks would laugh at the advertisement—to say nothing of the expense of inserting it—and to convince them i'd have to do it. after that i might call on the civilised governments to send me all the gold, diamonds, and fine things i could think of. but what good would fine things do me? i should be afraid to let any ship land its cargo, or any other human being come on the island. i couldn't even have a cook, for fear she might be bribed to poison me or bust the odistor—and i've got no fancy to do my own cooking. what good to boss the world at that price? the kaiser himself wouldn't pay it. universally feared as he is already hated—but not bound to live alone. for a while i was thinking to seclude myself that way in self-sacrifice to the general good. i thought of issuing an order to all governments to stop fighting, stop governing and just let real freedom be established—the brotherhood of man, share and share alike, equal wages all round, same kind of houses and grub and clothes, perfect democracy! but suppose the governments didn't obey? politicians are smart—they'd soon see i dursn't leave my island to go travelling and inspecting what was going on all over. i couldn't receive deputations coming to me for redress of grievances, for fear they might be coming to rid the world of its benevolent despot. shrewd folks ashore would soon catch on to my fix—me there all alone, busy keeping ten or a dozen odistors blowing gales off shore for fifty miles or so to keep people out of any kind of striking distance, and everlastingly sending hurricanes upward to clear the sky of zeppelins and aeroplanes that might be sent to drop nitro-glycerine on me. next thing some speculator would be pretending to be my sole agent, and ordering the world to fetch him the wealth. how could i know, any more than god seems to, what things were done in my name?"

"employ marconi," i suggested; "have him send you aerial news of what's going on everywhere. then you could threaten wrong-doers everywhere with the odistor.

"marconi is a good man, mebby, but think of the temptation to him. how could i be sure he was giving me facts. he could stuff me with good reports, and all the time be bossing the world himself, forcing the nations to give up to him by the threat that i'd back him and blow the disobedient to kingdom come. besides, i don't know how to operate marconi's instruments, and, if i did, all my time would be taken up receiving his reports. no, sir. there is no honest, safe, comfortable way for me to get rich out of the odistor. i have known that for a considerable time."

"then, why did you wish to consult me?"

"well, first place, i wanted some friend to know what kind of a self-denying ordinance i'm living under. to be comprehended by at least one person is a human need. besides that, i want your opinion on a point of conscience. is the odistor mine?"

"yours? isn't it your exclusive discovery?"

"but isn't it miss minnely's property? i experimented in her time."

"during office hours?"

"mostly. and did all the construction in her workshop with her materials. she supposed i was tinkering up a new attraction for the annual announcement. isn't it hers by rights? she's been paying me forty-five dollars a week right along. when she hired me she told me she expected exclusive devotion to the interests of the family blessing. and i agreed. seems i'm bound in honour to give it up to her."

"for nothing?"

"well, she's dead set against raising wages. but i was thinking she might boost me up to fifty a week."

"that seems little for making her boss of the world."

"oh, miss minnely wouldn't go in for that. a man would. a woman is too conservative. miss minnely's one notion is the blessing. it's not money she is after, but doing good. she's sure the way to improve the world is to get the blessing regularly into every family. i don't know but she's right too. it's harmless, anyway."

i could not but regard adam's conscience as too tender. yet it was pathetic to see this old man, potentially master of mankind (if he were not mistaking the odistor's powers), feeling morally so bound by the ethics of the trusty employee. i had perused thousands of editorials designed to imbue the proletariat with precisely adam's idea of duty to capital. how to advise him was a serious problem.

"what would miss minnely do with it?" i inquired, to gain time.

"she would put it on the list of attractions in the prize package department."

"good heavens! and place absolute power in the hands of subscribers to the blessing! anarchy would ensue! they would all set about bossing the world."

"not they," said adam. "she would send out odistors gauged to only certain specified strengths. for five subscription certificates the subscriber would get a breeze to dry clothes or ventilate cellars. prize odistor number two might clear away snow; number three might run the family windmill. clubs of fifty new subscribers could win a machine that would clear fog away from the bay or the river, mornings. different strengths for different premiums. see? it would prove a first-class attraction for the announcement."

"adam," i remonstrated, for the financial prospect was too alluring, "you are not required to give this thing to miss minnely. resign. remit a million as conscience money to her. let us go into the manufacture together. you gauge the odistors. i will run the business end of the concern."

"no! miss minnely has the first right. if anybody gets it she must. what bothers me most is this—will she bounce me if i tell her?"

"bounce you? why?"

"think me crazy. i tell you she is conservative. and she is ready to throw me out—thinks i'm a back number. i can hardly blame her. fact is, i have given so much time and thought to the odistor of late years that i haven't found or invented half enough attractions for the announcement. last week she gave me an assistant—a pusher. that means she is intending him to supersede me about two years from now. yet i could invent a man with twice his brains in half the time. sometimes i am tempted to put the odistor on the small job of blowing him out into massachusetts bay. but he is not to blame for being as god made him. then, again, i think how i could down him by simply showing the thing to miss minnely. but the cold fit comes again—what if she thinks me crazy? i'd lose my forty-five dollars a week and might be driven to bossing the world. it's hard for old men to get new jobs in boston. they draw the dead-line at fifty. just when a man's got some experience they put a boy of twenty-six on top of him. on the other hand, suppose she does consider it, and does see the whole meaning of it. first thing she might do with her odistor would be to put a cyclone whirling me." he sighed heavily. "fact is i've got myself into a kind of hole. what do you advise?"

"bury the odistor. forget it, adam. then, with your mind free, you can invent new things for the announcement. i see no other escape from your predicament."

"i expected you to advise that in the end," said adam, and began repacking his singular mechanism. "bury it i will. but how can i forget it? may be it has exhausted my inventive powers. what then? i'm bounced. it's tough to have to begin all over again at sixty-three, and me boss of the world if i could only bring myself to boss. if i do get bounced and do get vexed, maybe i'll unbury it and show miss minnely what it can do. well, good evening, and thank you for your interest and advice."

he departed with the old, solemn unsettled look on his honest nova scotian countenance.

since that day i have frequently seen adam, but he gives me no recognition. he goes about with eyes on the ground, probably studying the complicated and frightful situation of a world power animated by liberalism and dominated by conscience. some in the blessing office tell me that miss minnely's disapproving eye is often on her old employee. they say she will soon lift the pusher over adam's white head.

what will he do then? i remember with some trepidation the vague threat with which he left me. at night, when a high gale happens to be blowing, i listen in wild surmise that adam was bounced yesterday, and that the slates, bricks and beams of the family blessing building are hurtling about the suburbs as if in signal that he has liberated a large specimen of the mysterious globule and embarked, of necessity, on the woeful business of bossing the world.