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There’s work going on all around the country. So far, though, the successful vehicles are in France and Germany, made by Daimler, Benz, Panhard, the Peugeot brothers.”
    â€œAnd you’re tossing your cap into the American horseless carriage ring, I take it.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWon’t you need cash for your experiments, a good deal of cash?” The Major’s questioning tone was sincere, his bearded face sober; however, he was a stout cat relishing his game.
    Tom, clenching scarred, oil-grimed hands on the table, did not recognize he was a mouse. “You pay me well.”
    â€œYes, but you’re young. Why play Faust? Why waste youth on foolish inventions?”
    â€œA machine faster than a horse, more reliable, never needing to be rested or watered, never bolting—is that foolish? Sir, with this vehicle farmers wouldn’t be nailed down to their farms, people could move around, life would be better for factory workers.”
    â€œSo your machine will be cheap enough for everyone?”
    â€œEventually, yes. Most families will own one.”
    The Major hid his smile by clamping down on his cigar. “Mmm, I see. What sort of power plant will your carriage run on? A steam engine?”
    Tom shook his head. “Some people are thinking about steam, but as far as I’m concerned, the furnace and boiler are far too heavy. The internal-combustion engine’s light. It runs on gasoline—that’s a by-product of crude petroleum.”
    â€œLast month, when I was in Paris …” The Major blew a ring of smoke before pulling out his plum. “Last month in Paris I saw one of these petrol wagons. It was built in the Panhard and Levassor shop.”
    Redness blotched Tom’s neck. “Then I’ve just made a horse’s ass of myself, explaining the machines. You already knew …”
    â€œAncient as I’m sure I seem to you, Bridger, I’m no dinosaur. I keep up on modern invention, I keep up. Naturally I was curious to see this new idiocy.”
    Two white marks showed in Tom’s flushed jaw. Yet neither anger nor embarrassment could stay his excitement. “How far did you go? How fast?”
    â€œGreat God, Bridger! Petroleum’s highly volatile. The machine might have exploded at any minute. Naturally I didn’t entrust myself to it.”
    â€œBut you saw it run?”
    The Major wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Run? It rattled at a snail’s pace down Avenue d’Ivry leaving a trail of foul odors and shying horses. Then it shuddered violently. And stopped. The driver jumped out and began tinkering with the engine. As far as I know, he’s still tinkering.”
    â€œI wish I could have been there!”
    â€œBridger, I realize you’re an enthusiast, but if you had heard the devilish rattling and jarring, got a whiff of the stink, seen that driver drenched in black oil from his hat to his boots, you’d accept that only a certifiable lunatic would travel in such a machine.”
    â€œThe engine must have been faulty.”
    â€œBelieve me, not even a sorcerer like you could keep one of those things in running order. The whole idea’s preposterous. If this were a sound commercial venture, why, the carriage manufacturers and bankers would be fighting like cocks to get a toehold. But none of this matters. I can’t let you have the building.”
    â€œWhat, sir?”
    â€œWe need storage for the overstock of adjustable bedside tables. They aren’t selling.”
    Tom’s pride would not allow him to show disappointment. “Then I guess I’ll have to find some other millionaire to pay rent to.”
    The caustic remark relieved the Major. He had given himself over to the delights of ragging the boy, yet an innate softness shrank from viewing the pain he had inflicted. He rose. His gray-striped morning suit adroitly concealed an enormous belly. “I’m not going