“Well, yes,” said Uncle Richard, smiling; “but it is due to the inventor. We must silver the glass, but on the surface, so as to get a reflection at once. Are you going to stay, Maxted?”
“If I may,” was the reply.
“Very well; but for experiment, as it is all new to me, I think we will try first to silver one of these pieces of the broken speculum. Yes; that largest piece.”
The conversation took place in the workshop, and the triangular piece of glass having been brought out, it was first thoroughly washed, and rinsed with rain-water, and then further cleaned by rubbing it well with a strong acid, so as to burn off any impurity, and after another rinsing in clear rain-water it was declared by Uncle Richard to be chemically clean.
“A good thing to be chemically as well as morally clean, Tom,” said the Vicar, smiling; “but I’m not going to stand here without asking questions if you don’t, Master Tom. First then, why must the glass be chemically clean?”
“So that the silver may adhere to it,” said Uncle Richard, who was now carefully arranging the freshly-cleaned glass, so that it lay on two pieces of wood in a shallow tray half full of water.
“My turn to question,” said Tom merrily.
“Yes, go on,” said the Vicar.
“Why is the face of the glass put in water, uncle?”
“To keep it wet and thoroughly clean. Dust or floating spores might settle upon it, and then we should have specks. I want to get a surface perfectly clear; and now, Tom, I want the four bottles I prepared yesterday—fetch them down.”