Before going away he made an erratic and indecisive tour of the little room, glancing at drawings and picking up first one thing and then another.
"You have a good many things here," he said, "of one kind and another."
"Yes," Murdoch answered, absently.
Ffrench glanced around at the jumble of mechanical odds and ends, the plans and models in various stages of neglect or completion.
"It's a queer place," he commented, "and it has an air of significance. It's crammed with ideas—of one kind and another."
"Yes," Murdoch answered, as before.
Ffrench approached him and laid his hand weakly on his shoulder.
"You are a fellow of ideas," he said, "and you have a good deal before you. Whatever disappointments you might meet with, you would always have a great deal before you. You have ideas. I," with apparent inconsequence, "I haven't, you know."
Murdoch looked somewhat puzzled, but he did not contradict him, so he repeated his statement.
"I haven't, you know. I wish I had."