“He was wishing,” said Billy when they overtook the others, “that he could make an iron gate.”
“I’ll confess, here and now,” said Mr. Prescott, “that I myself have had aspirations of that sort.”
“Is iron-work coming in again?” asked Dr. Crandon. “It seems to me that, just lately, I have seen some very beautiful gates.”
“I think so,” answered Mr. Prescott. “There are a few men who seem to have caught the spirit of the old smiths, and to have seen the possibilities in wrought iron. The man who made that gate is one of them. He has invented a liquid, too, to prevent the rusting of the iron.
“You see that a man who works in iron must be both an artist and a smith—he must blow the forge and use the hammer. That gate in cast iron would be almost ugly. In the Swedish wrought iron, it is truly beautiful.
“The old fellows knew much more about the artistic side of iron than we do. Look at the old French locks—even a French king prided himself on his ability to make locks.
“There was a time when an apprentice to a locksmith had to make a masterpiece lock before he could become a master. It usually took him two years to do it, for he had to chase and chisel it from the solid.
“I’ll tell you, Bradford, something that Billy Bradford doesn’t know. I have a workshop of my own at home in the lower part of the house.
“A long time ago I began an iron gate for the garden. When we go back, Bradford, let’s finish it.”
Billy, looking at his Uncle John, smiled serenely.