Correspondence of the ‘London Times’
Chicago, April 1, 1904
I resume by cable-telephone where I left off yesterday.
For many hours now, this vast city—along
with the rest of the globe, of course—has
talked of nothing but the extraordinary episode mentioned
in my last report. In accordance with your instructions,
I will now trace the romance from its beginnings down
to the culmination of yesterday—or today;
call it which you like. By an odd chance, I was
a personal actor in a part of this drama myself.
The opening scene plays in Vienna. Date, one
o’clock in the morning, March 31, 1898.
I had spent the evening at a social entertainment.
About midnight I went away, in company with the military
attaches of the British, Italian, and American embassies,
to finish with a late smoke. This function had
been appointed to take place in the house of Lieutenant
Hillyer, the third attache mentioned in the above
list. When we arrived there we found several
visitors in the room; young Szczepanik;[1] Mr. K.,
his financial backer; Mr. W., the latter’s secretary;
and Lieutenant Clayton, of the United States Army.
War was at that time threatening between Spain and
our country, and Lieutenant Clayton had been sent
to Europe on military business. I was well acquainted
with young Szczepanik and his two friends, and I knew
Mr. Clayton slightly. I had met him at West Point
years before, when he was a cadet. It was when
General Merritt was superintendent. He had the
reputation of being an able officer, and also of being
quick-tempered and plain-spoken.
This smoking-party had been gathered together partly
for business. This business was to consider
the availability of the telelectroscope for military
service. It sounds oddly enough now, but it is
nevertheless true that at that time the invention
was not taken seriously by any one except its inventor.
Even his financial support regarded it merely as a
curious and interesting toy. Indeed, he was so
convinced of this that he had actually postponed its
use by the general world to the end of the dying century
by granting a two years’ exclusive lease of it
to a syndicate, whose intent was to exploit it at
the Paris World’s Fair. When we entered
the smoking-room we found Lieutenant Clayton and Szczepanik
engaged in a warm talk over the telelectroscope in
the German tongue. Clayton was saying:
‘Well, you know my opinion of it, anyway!’
and he brought his fist down with emphasis upon the
table.
‘And I do not value it,’ retorted the
young inventor, with provoking calmness of tone and
manner.
Clayton turned to Mr. K., and said:
’I cannot see why you are wasting money on this
toy. In my opinion, the day will never come
when it will do a farthing’s worth of real service
for any human being.’
’That may be; yes, that may be; still, I have
put the money in it, and am content. I think,
myself, that it is only a toy; but Szczepanik claims
more for it, and I know him well enough to believe
that he can see father than I can—either
with his telelectroscope or without it.’
