They left him, and in moments he was asleep from exhaustion.
In the storeroom, Jon found some pieces of one-inch oak, and Jak and he made up their box, finishing just as their mother called them to dinner. It was a six-inch cube, sturdily fastened with plenty of screws; strong enough to hold solid osmium. The lead foil was carefully fitted into the interior, and was now twelve layers thick—three-eighths of an inch.
"That ought to do it," Jak said, and Jon agreed.
"Let's go out and fill it after we eat." Jak was all eagerness.
Jon shook his head. "Not unless Pop says to. Now that he's awake, I just don't like to make decisions."
Jak grinned. "You're right, of course. Guess we got too big-headed, having to do things ourselves while he was unconscious."
"Yes, we're still pretty inexperienced, and I'm glad we don't have to figure things out now."
"Still, we can't go back to depending too much on him," Jak said thoughtfully. "That way, we'll never get the habit of thinking for ourselves, and deciding—and that would be bad. But about this, I agree fully," he added quickly as he saw his brother about to protest.
"Even if I don't know much about it, I can see that this stuff's dangerous to monkey with."
Their father awakened later, much refreshed by his nap. After the boys had explained and exhibited their new box, he agreed it would be all right for them to go out and get a single piece of the metal.