Unpacked already were several monstrous bits of equipment. Lionel shook his head. Where had this mess come from? He hadn't ordered it—
Or,
Had he?
Lionel left the laboratory on the dead run. He tripped once and fell flat on his face and as he started up again, the top of his head came with a sharp bang against the unyielding bottom of a ruling engine.
"A grating engine," yelled Tom.
On the desk, in plain sight, was a pile of bills-of-lading. Tom riffled through them, consulted packing lists, and a catalog of ordered equipment. In his own handwriting, too.
Grand total outlay $94,617.34; balance to be paid within thirty days: $16,750.00.
"Not only broke," grunted Tom, "but bleeding too."
His handwriting was his handwriting. Not a chance in the world of refuting the order, or packing the stuff up and sending it back. He was stuck with it.
But the conglomeration that Thomas had picked out. A sort of aggregation of large and small parts that would have made a small college laboratory figuratively drool at the thought; but which would only grow dust, rust, and corrosion in any manufacturing plant.