Invention and Intervention.

Some of the most involved inventions have returned their creators less than the cost of headache powders, while many of the gadgets anyone could have thought of, but didn't, have promoted their creators from porridge to peerage. It is said that the man who put the permanent wave into hair-pins died most expensively, murmuring the words of the song: “I love the silver in my mother's hair,” whilst the pioneer of celluloid did a fade-out with no box-office returns. But you can't keep a good inventor down—even when he blows himself up.

Many inventions are quite good, but do the right thing at the wrong time, as proved by the inventor who knocked at the gate of Heaven one morning.

“What's your profession?” asked Peter.

“I'm an inventor,” replied the new arrival.

“What did you invent?” queried Peter.

“I invented a new explosive,” replied the applicant.

“Was it a success?” asked Peter.

“Success? Well—I'm here, aren't I?” said the inventor.

Ever since his early youth
When he cut his pristine tooth,
It was clearly evident
Little Willie would invent.
Noseyness, 'twas very plain,
Influenced the infant's brain.
Willie, from an early date,
Hastened to investigate
In a spirit of aplomb
Every strange phenomenon.
As he grew, his natural bent,
Led to wild experiment,
Such as how the soup would taste Mixed with father's shaving paste.
Whether gas is Willie-proof.
Solved by blowing off the roof.
Later, as ambition grew,
Willie wrecked the bathroom, too.
Willie, in his thirteenth year,
Proving an explosive flair,
Made a rocket, half in play,
On the eve of Guy Fawkes day.
When he set it off—adieu!—
Little Willie went up, too.