“The body?”
“Yes; the speculum is what we might call the life of the whole instrument, and the rest will be simplicity itself. We’ve got to bring a little mechanical work to bear, and the thing is done.”
“But it will want a lot of glasses fixed about in a big tube, won’t it?”
“No; nothing but the flat and eye-pieces, and I have the lenses to make these. By the way, I have some letters to write, and shall be busy all the morning. Your uncle seems to be still unwell, and I must write to him, for one thing. I tell you what I want done. We have no place there for keeping papers or drawings in, and where one can sit down and write at times, and lock up afterwards. I’ve been thinking that I’ll have the big old bureau desk with its drawers taken out of the study, and carried up into the laboratory. It can stand beneath the shelves on the right of the east window; and you might take up a chair or two, and a piece of old carpet as well. Get David to help you.”
“All right, uncle.”
So when breakfast was over, Tom went out and found David, who was sticking stakes along the outside of the asparagus bed, and tying tarred twine from one to the other, so as to keep the plume-like stems from blowing about and breaking.
“Mornin’, Master Tom,” he said. “I say, my Maria Louisas are swelling out fast. We shall soon have to be on the look-out for pear-ketchers.”
“All right, David, I’ll help you. I hope it is Pete Warboys. I should like to give him stick.”
“We’ll give him stake instead, Master Tom.”
“Never mind that now. I want you to help me move that chest of drawers and desk out of uncle’s study to the laboratory.”