"What's the use of grousing," he asked, "and gassing about a feed that's never been offered? Why, Susanne's friend mayn't be there. He may find no one to invite him."
"I shall. Certain," declared that individual, grinning. "If there's one Frenchman there, he is my countryman. He pays toll. That's quite regular. He'll be awfully glad to meet me."
"Oh, well, then you get an invite. What's it matter? Bread's good enough for me so long as I see the fun. Let's settle the matter. Five bob's a heap. That Higgins is a Shylock. He'll take every cent from me."
"Same here," asserted Hugh, pulling a face. "I shall be short for the rest of the term."
Susanne produced a sovereign. "How much for the lot?" he asked.
"Twenty shillings, and five extra for you," cried Masters.
"Then take it as settled. I'll write home to the people and tell 'em I've had heavy calls. A motor's a call, isn't it?" he asked naïvely, seeing his friends smile. "I pay the motor. If there isn't a feed, then we've something left to buy grub with. How's that? Pass another apple, Clive. You hang over them as if the store belonged to you."
It got dusk before they had finished talking. The far ends of the workshop were hidden in gloom before they rose from their places about the stove. And then there came the sound of a scraping match. A flare lit the gloom in the distance. A tall figure stretched upward to a swinging lamp and lit the wick. It was Hole, the school's carpentry instructor, unchanged after years of service, with an eagle eye for old faces and a keen recollection of incidents gone and forgotten by the majority. If only every school existing had such a workshop, and made attendance there almost compulsory, instead of an extra to be paid for by parents! For there, in the workshop provided by Ranleigh, boys learned a thousand and one things. Handiness came quickly to them, and better than all, perhaps, here was at hand a means to fill many an hour which might otherwise have been idle.
Benches down the centre bore a host of tools, while the special property of individuals was housed in lockers near the entrance. The stove was placed half-way along the shop, and beyond, one entered a second shop provided with turning lathes. See Clive there, with the faithful and interested Hugh in attendance, both lads working the foot pedal with might and main, while dust and shavings whirled about them. Or follow them to the blacksmith's shop, an adjacent institution. There, dressed in leather aprons, with sleeves tucked to the shoulder, they might be seen many and many a time beating out some piece of spluttering metal on the anvil. Or the metal-turning lathe held their attention, and they slowly and laboriously pounded at the pedal while the hardened tool took off shavings at a pace which was slow to the point of exasperation.
But there were days also in this shop when flames and sparks flew up the chimney wildly, when either Hugh or Clive, or even Susanne on occasion, turned the handle of the mechanical blower. Coke heaped high on the hearth glowed redly, while the heat within the shop was stifling. Perhaps these conditions existed for an hour; perhaps for longer, Clive or the shop instructor ever and again lifting the lid of a crucible buried in the glowing coke. And then, with a joyful shout, it was announced that the brass was molten. Think, then, of the joy these young mechanics experienced. The boxes placed so carefully over in the corner had cost them many an hour's labour. Packed with sand, and divided at the commencement, the two halves of the moulds fashioned from their own patterns were now assembled, and the moment had arrived to pour the molten brass into the narrow openings left for that purpose. And imagine the impatience of these model-makers awaiting the setting of their castings.