“Now you begin,” groaned Macey. “Oh, I say, don’t! I wouldn’t have old Distie know for anything. You chaps are mean.”
“Go on, Vane,” cried Gilmore.
“There’s nothing more to go on about, for I haven’t worked out the idea thoroughly.”
“I know,” cried Macey, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
“I thought,” continued Vane dreamily, “that one might contrive a little paddle or screw—”
“And work it with hot-water pipes,” cried Macey.
It was Vane’s turn to wince now; and he made a pretence of throwing a book at Macey, who ducked down below the table, and then slowly raised his eyes to the level as Vane went on.
“Then you could work that paddle by means of cranks.”
“Only want one—old Weathercock. Best crank I know,” cried Macey.
“Will you be quiet,” cried Gilmore. “Go on, Vane.”