“Didn’t Bailey work well?” I said, as a vision of the idle apprentice came before my eyes.
“Father used to say he was like an engine with a bad stoker. He was either racing, or there was no steam un. He’d work furiously for two days, and then he’d idle for a week.”
“Mr Girtley is fond of work, then?”
“Father says everyone was meant to work, and life’s too short for all we have to do. But he likes play, too. We have a cricket-field at home, and a billiard-table, and bowls—all sorts of games. Father plays at all of them when he’s at home and isn’t gardening. He calls it oiling his machinery and slackening his bands. Come along, I’ll show you the factory, and our workshop, where you and I will have to work, making models, and then we’ll oil our machinery.”
“Shall we have to make models?” I cried eagerly.
“You will, of course. I’m going to be a lawyer. Father thinks the man who is a good engineer is sure to have to invent, and if so, he ought to be able to take the tools out of his men’s hands, and show them how they should be used. Shall you like that? It makes your hands black.”
“Oh, I shan’t mind that,” I said, laughing. “I shall like it.”
We went over the office, and then, taking our caps, he showed me the way over Westminster Bridge to the great works in Lambeth, where steam was puffing and panting, wheels whirring, and iron and steel were shrieking as they were being tortured into shape.
It was a confusing place, and, after passing the timekeeper’s box at the entrance, we seemed to plunge into a kind of Pandemonium, where fires glared, and white-hot masses of metal were being dragged out and beaten till they sent sparks of brilliant fire flying in all directions. From there we ascended to a floor where wheels were whirring and great machines were at work, with men tending them, and pouring oil in the wounds made by mighty steam-worked chisels, or bored in pieces of black iron. In one place, shavings of iron were curling off before a plane like so much soft wood; and on touching them I found them rigid, and hot with the friction necessary to tear them away. Next we were in a higher shop, where lathes were at work, and iron, steel, and brass were being turned like so much ivory. Out of this great floor was a smaller workshop, whose walls were covered with tools; and on shelves around were dozens of strange models, which took my attention strongly as I thought of Hallett’s patient work, and longed to begin at something on the spot.
Here, too, there were lathes, vices, and all the necessary paraphernalia for the constructing engineers, and I left the place unwillingly to join young Girtley in his run down the river, where, the right steamer being chosen, we had our ride; the oscillating engines were examined, and we were back and down at Dulwich in good time for dinner and a look round the spacious grounds afterwards.