“Howd’y, Jake. You’re back. Are you wanting something?”
“You want help, Bill, my partner, Carson, is your man. He was raised at an Old Country shipyard, but he can clean a cook stove, conjure with a shoe-string, and play the fiddle.”
“Can he sharpen tools?” Bill inquired.
“Let me try,” said Kit, and the smith pulled some chisels from a box. Then he turned to Gordon.
“I don’t want you, Jake. Get going!”
Gordon gave Kit a smile, and when he went off Kit looked about. A revolving shaft crossed the roof, and when he put a belt on a pulley, a small thick wheel began to spin. At the shipyard, Kit was for a time at the lathe-shop, and he thought he knew something about grinding tools. Moreover, he saw he must not bother the smith. He claimed he could sharpen tools and the fellow had given him the chisels. When Kit carried back the chisels he would know. The Canadians were a sternly logical lot.
To hold the steel on the spinning stone absorbed Kit. He liked to mold the bevel and see the thick edge melt to an almost invisible line. The roll of the shaft and the noise the slapping belt made were soothing. Perhaps he had some talent for music, but he was, by inheritance, an engineer. After a time, Bill picked up a chisel and felt the edge.
“Pretty good! You can go ahead.”
Kit turned and pulled off the belt.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t stay.”