business genius. I
think it must be something like the feeling an aeronaut has when his
balloon bursts, and, looking down, he sees below him the old home farm
where he used to live--I mean the feeling he'd have just before he
flattened out in that same old clay barnyard. Things do look bleak, and
I'm only glad you didn't go into this confounded thing to the extent I
did."

Miss Fanny grew pink. "But it must go right!" she protested. "We saw
with our own eyes how perfectly it worked in the shop. The light was so
bright no one could face it, and so there can't be any reason for it not
to work. It simply--"

"Oh, you're right about that," Amberson said. "It certainly was a
perfect thing--in the shop! The only thing we didn't know was how fast
an automobile had to go to keep the light going. It appears that this
was a matter of some importance."

"Well, how fast does one have to--"

"To keep the light from going entirely out," he informed her with
elaborate deliberation, "it is computed by those enthusiasts who have
bought our product--and subsequently returned it to us and got their
money back--they compute that a motor car must maintain a speed of
twenty-five miles an hour, or else there won't be any light at all.
To make the illumination bright enough to be noticed by an approaching
automobile, they state the speed must be more than thirty miles an
hour. At thirty-five, objects in the path of the light begin to become
visible; at forty they are revealed distinctly; and at fifty and above
we have a real headlight. Unfortunately many people don't care to drive
that fast at all times after dusk, especially in the traffic, or where
policemen are likely to become objectionable."

"But think of that test on the road when we--"

"That test was lovely," he admitted. "The inventor made us happy with
his oratory, and you and Frank Bronson and I went whirling through the
night at a speed that thrilled us. It was an intoxicating sensation: we
were intoxicated by the lights, the lights and the music. We must never
forget that drive, with the cool wind kissing our cheeks and the road
lit up for miles ahead. We must never forget it and we never shall. It
cost--"

"But something's got to be done."

"It has, indeed! My something would seem to be leaving my watch at my
uncle's. Luckily, you--"

The pink of Fanny's cheeks became deeper. "But isn't that man going to
do anything to remedy it? can't he try to--"

"He can try,"