“Yes, I will. Of course I will. May I order the new mirrors to-morrow and say that you’ll pay for them?”
“You may. But remember——”
“Oh, that will be all right,” said Tim. “As soon as ever it is perfected——”
“Perfect or imperfect,” I said, “you’ve promised to show it off when I ask you to.”
Gorman and I drove home together. At first he would do nothing except grumble about his brother’s childish obstinacy.
“Can’t understand,” he said, “how any man with brains can be such a fool.”
Then when he had worked off the fine edge of his irritation he began to thank me.
“It was good of you, very,” he said, “to put down the money. I’d have done it myself, if I could have laid my hand on the amount he wanted. But just at this moment I can’t. All the same I don’t see what good that £100 is going to do. The thing’s perfect enough for all practical purposes already. I saw nothing wrong with it.”
“Nor did I.”
“Then what the devil does he want to do with it? If the thing works all right, what’s the sense of tinkering with it?”