"Oh, come now, Tom, that's not fair!" said Templeton. "I told you I must finish grinding these valves, then I'm free. And as for talking, I can hear you quite well; that's all that matters, isn't it?"
"Been cultivating repartee with your C.O., I suppose," remarked Eves. "Or else your naturally amiable disposition has broken down under the tender mercies of the Boche. Aunt Caroline warned me, I admit: said you had undergone great mental strain, underlined, and were feverishly anxious to repair your wasted life, underlined twice. What did the Boche do to you, Bobby, old man?"
"Tell you by and by: must finish this job."
Eves sighed with resignation, and looked round for a seat. There was nothing available except a bench along the wall, littered with tools and odds and ends of machinery. Being also plentifully besmeared with black grease, it looked far from inviting, especially as Eves was wearing a new pair of slacks; but he cleared a space large enough to afford sitting room, and taking the outer sheets of a newspaper that lay handy, spread them on the board, seated himself thereon, and opened the inner sheet to kill time until Templeton should have finished his job.
Tom Eves, whose cap bore the badge of a certain regiment of Light Infantry, was in the final stage of convalescence from wounds received in action before Amiens. While in hospital he had learnt that Templeton, taken a prisoner in the early days of the Germans' spring offensive, was among the first batch of officers repatriated under the terms of the armistice, and on applying to Miss Templeton for her nephew's address, was astonished and amused to hear that he was hard at work in a little Dorset town within easy reach.
"Just like old Bob!" he said to himself. "Two months' leave! And instead of playing the giddy goat, as any sensible fellow would do in his place, he feels he must make up for lost time and swot away at his old inventions. With a good balance at Cox's, too. Aunt Caroline says she quite approves of his spending his money in preparation for his career—just the sort of thing she would say! Well, I'll look him up, the old juggins, first leave I have!"
Templeton, in fact, taking his usual serious view of things in general and his inventions in particular, had been unable to reconcile himself to the prospect of two months' idleness, after having kicked his heels for seven months in a prisoners' camp, months during which his brain had teemed with "notions." There was the two-way motor; the turbine motor; an automatic fire extinguisher; a sound increaser; a combined tin-opener and fountain pen, with corkscrew attachment; a road yacht; a push and pull door-handle. Aunt Caroline was so much impressed with the potential public utility of the bright ideas he expounded to her, that she placed £25 to his credit with Cox's, and warmly commended him when he told her that he had found a field for his experiments in the little town of Pudlington. "A delightful spot!" she said, in her emphatic way. "A quaint old town, quite charming! And such invigorating air!" The manager of the British Motor Garage, just outside the town aforesaid, had agreed to give Templeton facilities for experimenting in exchange for his services—an arrangement that suited with his own and his aunt's ideas of economy. Wilkins, the manager, was short-handed: indeed Templeton found himself more often than not in sole charge of the garage, for Wilkins was frequently absent, driving his only serviceable car for the officers of the camp a few miles away. Thus, when Eves made his appearance on this bright, windy December morning, he found his old friend, encased in the blue overalls of a mechanic, alone in the repairing shop, and engrossed in the job he had in hand.
For a few minutes Eves read the newspaper, without addressing any further remark to Templeton.
"I say, Bob!" he exclaimed at last, "here's a chance for you.... All right—I won't shout, but listen! 'G.R.—Notice. Tenders for the purchase of waste from the Upper Edgecombe Camp should reach the Officer Commanding not later than noon on Thursday, December 12.' Fortunes have been made out of waste. Perhaps you have tendered already: I see the paper's nearly a week old."
"I haven't," replied Templeton, curtly.