"I've heard of you," he said, "and I was anxious to meet you. What d'you think of that toy?"
He nodded aft at a web of wire-coils, vulcanite levers and brass keys, standing beneath a wooden shelter in the stern. Three or four officers from the Fleet were gathered round it with note-books in their hands testing and adjusting amid its intricacies.
"I've been lookin' at it," admitted the big man non-committally. "It sounds like a cinch, but I understand it ain't perfect yet?"
"Not by what you might call a long chalk," was the dry reply.
The big man looked relieved. "That's all right," he said. "Because when it is I guess I can go right along and get to bed. That little outfit's going to finish the war, sir."
"Hardly," said Sir William. "But it's intended to help things in that direction. Unfortunately, you see, there's still a factor—what we call an unknown quantity——" He lapsed into technical explanations. The other listened for a while and then shook his head.
"Maybe you're right," he said, "but I couldn't say. I'm no scholar—ran away from school too young. But it seems to me——" He lifted a booted foot and rested it on the low gunwale, "Workin' at long distances, there's the pull of the tides…."
Sir William's eyeglass dropped. He recovered it and screwed it home.
"Am I right, sir?" asked the big man.
"You are," said the Scientist. "You've studied tides, too, have you?"