“You do, Antony; and it has given me great pleasure to find that, without assuming any fine airs, you have settled down steadily to your work amongst rough boys and ignorant prejudiced men without losing any of the teachings of your early life.” I looked at him, wondering what he was about to say. “Now look here, Antony, my boy,” he continued; “I am going to put implicit faith in your honour, merely warning you that if you talk about what you have seen here you may do me a very serious injury. You understand?”
“Oh yes, Mr Hallett,” I cried; “you may depend upon me.”
“I do, Antony,” he said; “so let’s have no more of that formal ‘Mr’ Let it be plain ‘yes’ and ‘no;’ and now, mind this, I am going to open out before you my secret. Henceforth it will be our secret. Is it to be so?”
“Yes—oh yes!” I exclaimed, flushing with pride that a man to whom I had looked up should have so much confidence in me.
“That’s settled, then,” he said, shaking hands with me. “And now, Antony, once more, what do you think of my model?”
I had a good look at the contrivance as it stood upon the table, while Hallett watched me curiously, and with no little interest. “It’s a puzzle,” I said at last. “Do you give it up?”
“No; not yet,” I said, leaning my elbows on the table. “Wheels, a brass table, a roller. Why, it looks something like a mangle.” I looked at him, and he nodded.
“But you wouldn’t try to make a mangle,” I said. “It might do to grind things in. May I move it?”
“No; it is out of gear. Well, do you give it up?” He rose as he spoke, and opened the attic window to let in the pleasant, cool night air, and then leaned against the sloping ceiling gazing back at me.
“I know what it would do for,” I said eagerly, as the idea came to me like a flash. “What?”