Recalling the incident of the Law Gold Reporting Company, I inquired:
“Do you believe want urges a man to greater efforts and so to greater
success?”
“It certainly makes him keep a sharp lookout. I think it does push a
man along.”
“Do you believe that invention is a gift, or an acquired ability?”
“I think it’s born in a man.”
“And don’t you believe that familiarity with certain mechanical
conditions and defects naturally suggest improvements to any one?”
“No. Some people may be perfectly familiar with a machine all their
days, knowing it inefficient, and never see a way to improve it.”
“What do you think is the first requisite for success in your field, or
any other?”
“The ability to apply your physical and mental energies to one problem
incessantly without growing weary.”
“Do you have regular hours, Mr. Edison?” I asked.
“Oh,” he said, “I do not work hard now. I come to the laboratory about
eight o’clock every day and go home to tea at six, and then I study or
work on some problem until eleven, which is my hour for bed.”
“Fourteen or fifteen hours a day can scarcely be called loafing,” I
suggested.
“Well,” he replied, “for fifteen years I have worked on an average of
twenty hours a day.”
That astonishing brain has been known to puzzle itself for sixty
consecutive hours over a refractory problem, its owner dropping quietly
off into a long sleep when the job was done, to awake perfectly
refreshed and ready for another siege. Mr. Dickson, a neighbor and
familiar, gives an anecdote told by Edison which well illustrates his
untiring energy and phenomenal endurance. In describing his Boston
experience, Edison said he bought Faraday’s works on electricity,
commenced to read them at three o’clock in the morning and continued
until his room-mate arose, when they started on their long walk to get
breakfast. That object was entirely subordinated in Edison’s mind to
Faraday, and he suddenly remarked to his friend: “Adams, I have got so
much to do, and life is so short, that I have got to hustle,” and with
that he started off on a dead run for his breakfast.