“So as to make a reflector that will send back a ray of light quite exact—a perfect mirror.”
“That’s a looking-glass, arn’t it, sir?”
“Yes.”
“I wish you’d make one, sir, as would work o’ nights, and show us when Pete Warboys comes arter my pippins. That’d bang all yer tallow-scoops.”
“Impossible, David.”
“Yes, sir, s’posed so when I said it. But I say, Master Tom.”
“Yes.”
“That chap’s sure to know as your uncle’s gone to London for two or three days.”
“Yes; you can’t move here without its being known, David,” said Tom, polishing away, and making his fingers dirty.
“Then, don’t you see, sir?”