“But I thought you said you wanted it very fine. You’ve only washed it.”
“We’re playing at cross purposes, Tom,” said Uncle Richard. “You are talking about the contents of the pan, I about those of the basin.”
“What! the clear water—at least nearly clear?”
“Ah, there you have hit it, boy—nearly clear. That water contains our finest polishing powder, and it will have to stand till to-morrow to settle.”
“Oh!” said Tom, who felt very much in the dark, and he followed his uncle to the neat sink that had been fitted in the laboratory, and helped him wash a series of wide-mouthed stoppered bottles, which were afterwards carefully dried and labelled in a most methodical way.
“Saves time, Tom, to be careful,” said Uncle Richard, who now took up a pen and wrote upon the label of the smallest bottle “Emery, 60 min.”
“There, that’s for the contents of the big basin.”
“Want a genii to get a pailful into that little bottle, uncle,” said Tom, laughing.
“We’ll get all we want into it to-morrow, Tom,” was the reply. “Now then, how do you feel—ready for one hour’s more grinding at the speculum, or shall we leave it till to-morrow?”
“I want to finish it, and see the moon,” said Tom sturdily, as he rolled up his sleeves a little more tightly. “Let’s get on, uncle, and finish it.”