Cilia studied the question of engines till her brain was going twelve knots easy. Compound and triple expansion, boiler plate, and cylinder stroke—her mind was busy with every detail; for Cilia was not one to do things by halves when once she started.
Abrahamsen was examined and cross-examined till the sweat poured off him; he, of course, had to appear more or less familiar with all these things, since he aspired to command a steamer.
Malvina sat silent, looking on with wide eyes and taking it all in; she was looking forward to a free passage on a real steamboat for herself.
Soren wondered a little what they could be up to in the attic, but, being comfortable enough below with a glass of grog and the Shipping Gazette, he let them stay there as long as they pleased. One evening, however, it struck him they were at it a good long time; it was past eleven, and no sign of their coming down yet. Accordingly, he stole up quietly in his stocking feet, and looked through the keyhole. What he saw did not improve his temper. On a table in the middle of the room was the smartest little steamer one could imagine. Red bottom, sides black above, with a gold streak, the rudder and two masts sloping a little aft, flag at fore and maintop—a sight to see. Cilia, Malvina and Abrahamsen stood round examining the model with glee.
Soren was about to retire, but stumbled over an old trunk left outside, and fell head over heels into the room among the others. There was an awkward pause, until Cilia broke the silence by asking Soren: "What do you think of that—isn't she a beauty?" pointing to the model as she spoke.
"Why, yes, she's a handsome boat enough," said Soren, rubbing his shins.
"Oh, father, we must have a steamer of our own," said Malvina, coming up and clinging to his shoulder.
"Why, child, what are you doing here? I thought you'd have had enough to do at home with the boy," he said softly.
"It's the steamer we wanted to see. Mother thinks we could manage all right with compound, but Abrahamsen says it'll have to be triplets."
"Triplets, forbid!" muttered Abrahamsen.