The doctor laughed. Vane promised, and forgetful entirely of appearances he deputed his uncle to go to the rectory and excuse him for two days, and worked like a slave. The result was that not only was the boiler set in the wall behind the kitchen-fire, and all put perfectly straight before the next night, but the iron-pipes, elbows, and syphons were joined together with their india-rubber rings, and supported on brick piers, the smith having screwed in a couple of taps for turning off the communication in hot weather, and the fitting of the boiler; and pipes through the little iron cistern at the highest point completing the work.
“Ought by rights, sir, to stand for a few days for the mortar to set,” said the bricklayer on leaving; and this opinion being conveyed to Aunt Hannah, she undertook that Martha, should make shift in the back kitchen for a day or two—just as they had during her absence.
“She will not like it, my dear,” said Aunt Hannah, “but as there is no muddle to clean up, and all looks right, I don’t mind making her do that.”
“Real tyrant of the household, Vane,” said the doctor. “Don’t you ever start housekeeping and have a cook.”
Everything had been finished in such excellent time, consequent upon certain bribery and corruption in the shape of half-crowns, that early in the evening, Vane, free from all workmanlike traces, was able to point triumphantly to the neat appearance of the job, and explain the working of the supply cistern, and of the stop-cocks between the boiler and the pipes to his aunt and uncle.
“I thought there ought only to be one tap,” said Vane; “but they both declared that there ought to be one to each pipe, so as to stop the circulation; and as it only cost a few shillings more I didn’t stop the smith from putting it in.”
“Humph!” said the doctor as Vane turned first one and then the other tap on and off, “seems to work nice and easy.”
“And it does look very much neater than all those bricks,” said Aunt Hannah. “But I must say one thing, my dear, though I don’t like to damp your project, it does smell very nasty indeed.”
“Oh, aunt, dear,” cried Vane merrily; “that’s nothing: only the Brunswick black with which they have painted the pipes. That smell will all go off when it’s hard and dry. That wants to dry slowly, too, so you’ll be sure and tell Martha about not lighting the fire.”
“Oh, yes, my dear, I’ll see to that.”