The History of the Telephone | Page 8

Hubbard. He was poor, much poorer than his
associates knew. And his mind was torn and distracted by the contrary
calls of science, poverty, business, and affection. Pouring out his
sorrows in a letter to his mother, he said: "I am now beginning to
realize the cares and anxieties of being an inventor. I have had to put
off all pupils and classes, for flesh and blood could not stand much
longer such a strain as I have had upon me."
While stumbling through this Slough of Despond, he was called to
Washington by his patent lawyer. Not having enough money to pay the
cost of such a journey, he borrowed the price of a return ticket from
Sanders and arranged to stay with a friend in Washington, to save a
hotel bill that he could not afford. At that time Professor Joseph Henry,
who knew more of the theory of electrical science than any other
American, was the Grand Old Man of Washington; and poor Bell, in
his doubt and desperation, resolved to run to him for advice.
Then came a meeting which deserves to be historic. For an entire
afternoon the two men worked together over the apparatus that Bell had
brought from Boston, just as Henry had worked over the telegraph
before Bell was born. Henry was now a veteran of seventy-eight, with
only three years remaining to his credit in the bank of Time, while Bell

was twenty-eight. There was a long half-century between them; but the
youth had discovered a New Fact that the sage, in all his wisdom, had
never known.
"You are in possession of the germ of a great invention," said Henry,
"and I would advise you to work at it until you have made it complete."
"But," replied Bell, "I have not got the electrical knowledge that is
necessary."
"Get it," responded the aged scientist.
"I cannot tell you how much these two words have encouraged me,"
said Bell afterwards, in describing this interview to his parents. "I live
too much in an atmosphere of discouragement for scientific pursuits;
and such a chimerical idea as telegraphing VOCAL SOUNDS would
indeed seem to most minds scarcely feasible enough to spend time in
working over."
By this time Bell had moved his workshop from the cellar in Salem to
109 Court Street, Boston, where he had rented a room from Charles
Williams, a manufacturer of electrical supplies. Thomas A. Watson was
his assistant, and both Bell and Watson lived nearby, in two cheap little
bedrooms. The rent of the workshop and bedrooms, and Watson's
wages of nine dollars a week, were being paid by Sanders and Hubbard.
Consequently, when Bell returned from Washington, he was compelled
by his agreement to devote himself mainly to the musical telegraph,
although his heart was now with the telephone. For exactly three
months after his interview with Professor Henry, he continued to plod
ahead, along both lines, until, on that memorable hot afternoon in June,
1875, the full TWANG of the clock-spring came over the wire, and the
telephone was born.
From this moment, Bell was a man of one purpose. He won over
Sanders and Hubbard. He converted Watson into an enthusiast. He
forgot his musical telegraph, his "Visible Speech," his classes, his
poverty. He threw aside a profession in which he was already locally
famous. And he grappled with this new mystery of electricity, as Henry

had advised him to do, encouraging himself with the fact that Morse,
who was only a painter, had mastered his electrical difficulties, and
there was no reason why a professor of acoustics should not do as
much.
The telephone was now in existence, but it was the youngest and
feeblest thing in the nation. It had not yet spoken a word. It had to be
taught, developed, and made fit for the service of the irritable business
world. All manner of discs had to be tried, some smaller and thinner
than a dime and others of steel boiler-plate as heavy as the shield of
Achilles. In all the books of electrical science, there was nothing to
help Bell and Watson in this journey they were making through an
unknown country. They were as chartless as Columbus was in 1492.
Neither they nor any one else had acquired any experience in the
rearing of a young telephone. No one knew what to do next. There was
nothing to know.
For forty weeks--long exasperating weeks-- the telephone could do no
more than gasp and make strange inarticulate noises. Its educators had
not learned how to manage it. Then, on March 10, 1876, IT TALKED.
It said distinctly--
"MR. WATSON, COME HERE, I WANT YOU." Watson, who was at
the lower end of the wire, in the basement, dropped the receiver and
rushed with