"By George! you're a plucky chap," he said, "if you are an American."
Murdoch's blood rose again.
"Say what you have to say," he demanded. "I can guess what it is; but, let me tell you, I should do the same thing again. It was no fault of mine that I was in your path——"
"If I'd been such a fool as not to see that," put in Haworth, with a smile grimmer than before, "do you think I couldn't have smashed every bone in your body?"
Then Murdoch comprehended how matters were to stand between them.
"Getten th' bag?" asked Floxham when he went back to his work.
"No."
"Tha hannot?" with animation. "Well, dang me!"
At the close of the day, as they were preparing to leave their work, Haworth presented himself in the engine-room, looking perhaps a trifle awkward.
"See here," he said to Murdoch, "I've heard something to-day as I've missed hearing before, somehow. The inventing chap was your father?"