“Well, you can’t help it now, sir, any more than you can the Pug; but if it had been me I should have called myself Drayson.”
“And seemed ashamed of the name my dear old father gave me, Rasp! No, I’m not the man for that,” said Dutch, warmly.
“No, sir, you ain’t,” said Rasp, in a more respectful tone, as he looked at the colour flaming up in the younger man’s cheeks, and in his heart of hearts acknowledged that he was not such a bad-looking fellow after all; for, though far from handsome, he was bold, bluff, and Saxon of aspect, broad-shouldered, and evidently Herculean in strength, though, from his deep build and fine proportions, in no wise heavy.
Now, on the other hand, Rasp was a decidedly plain man, rough, rugged, grizzled, and with eyebrows and whiskers of the raggedest nature possible. Their peculiar bristly quality was partaken of also by his hair, which, though cut short, was abundant; and though you might have brushed it to your heart’s content, it was as obstinate as its owner, for it never lay in any direction but that it liked.
At this point Rasp, who was a favoured old servant of the firm in which Dutch Pugh held a confidential post, made another attempt to stoke the fire, was turned on his flank, and retreated, leaving the young man to busily resume the drawing of a plan for some piece of machinery.
It was a dark, gloomy-looking room, that in which he worked, for the one window opened upon the narrow street of the busy sea-port of Ramwich; and a heavy, yellow fog hung over the town, and made the office look gloomy and full of shadow.
The place was fitted up as a private office, and near the window was placed one of those great double-sloped desks, so arranged that four people could stand, or sit upon the high leather-covered stools, and write at it at the same time. A wide level divided the two slopes, and this was dominated by brass rails, beneath which stood a couple of those broad, flat, pewter inkstands common in commercial offices, and which in this case it was Rasp’s delight to keep clean.
There were other objects about the gloomy office, though, upon which Rasp bestowed his time; for in three places, fitted on stands, and strapped to the wall to prevent their falling forward, were what looked at first sight, as they peered from the gloom, like so many suits of grotesque armour; for what light there was gleamed from the huge polished helmets, with their great brass, latticed goggle glass eyes—whose crests were tubes, and ornamentation glistening rims and studs of copper. A nervous person coming upon them in the dark might easily have been startled, for, with a certain grim idea of humour, Rasp had by degrees so arranged them that they leaned forward in peculiarly life-like positions—the hand of one holding a copper lantern, another being in the act of striking with a massive hatchet, and the third poising a huge crowbar in a menacing mode.
Farther back in the gloom stood a strange-looking air-pump; while in various directions, coiled and trailed like snakes, great lengths of india-rubber tubing, apparently in disorder, but really carefully kept ready for instant use, this being Rasp’s special task, of which he was proud to a degree.
“This is a teaser,” said Dutch to himself, after making sundry lines on the paper before him, and then pausing, compasses in one hand, pen in the other. “Valve A to close tube B—escape-valve at A dash—small copper globe at B dash, as a reservoir, and—hum—ha—yes—to be sure, small stop-cock in the middle of the copper tube at H. That’s it! I’ve got it at last.”