“How?”
“He’ll make me drive the durned thing.”
“No, he won’t.”
“What’s to stop him?”
“Oh, lots of things—leave it to me.”
He was cut short by Satan’s voice calling him to come below. Down below he had to follow all sorts of details pointed out, details proving the desirability of the prize and the miraculous ease of its removal.
Then they came on deck and put off for dinner. But Satan was never destined to lift that engine. Fate had fixed it to its bed-plates more securely than screws and nuts could hold it.