So he gave up to painting much
time that he would otherwise have spent upon his invention. His progress,
therefore, was slow and painful, but he pressed forward. He was not the
kind of man to give up.
In a room on the fifth floor of a building in New York City he toiled at
his experiments day and night, with little food, and that of the simplest
kind. Indeed so meagre was his fare, mainly crackers and tea, that he
bought provisions at night in order to keep his friends from finding out
how great his need was.
[Illustration: Modern Telegraph Office.]
During this time of hardship all that kept starvation from his door was
lessons in painting to a few pupils. On a certain occasion Morse said to
one of them, who owed him for a few months' teaching: "Well, Strothers, my
boy, how are we off for money?"
"Professor," said the young fellow, "I am sorry to say I have been
disappointed, but I expect the money next week."
"Next week!" cried his needy teacher; "I shall be dead by next week."
"Dead, sir?" was the shocked response of Strothers.
"Yes, dead by starvation!" was the emphatic answer.
"Would ten dollars be of any service?" asked the pupil, now seeing that
the situation was serious.
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