I'll make it myself." And up would start a new manufacture, just as soon as he could get men to work at it.
At one time it was ink, at another time brushes, then chintz, and then pocket-books; in fact, nobody pretended to remember all the schemes which the old man had failed in.

He would stop them as instantaneously as he began them, dismiss the workmen, shut up the shops or the mills, turn the key on them just as they stood, very possibly filled full of material in the rough.

He did not care.

The hobby was over: he had proved that the thing could be made in America, and he was content.

It was usually in some one of these disused buildings that he set up his hermitage in these absences from home.