"Here you are," replied Jack, drawing a rough sketch of the article he wanted with a piece of charcoal on the side of the forge.
"And what might that be for, measter?" the smith inquired. "A cur'ous looking objeck."
"Yes, isn't it? 'Tis for a game I'm going to play—quite a new thing in these parts."
"Well, to be sure! And how thick do 'ee want 'em?"
Jack could only guess the dimensions. He tried to recall the size of the holes in the wall of the Folly, and gave the smith a thickness which he hoped would turn out within the mark. The steps were easily made when the man had grasped the idea. Getting them wrapped up, Jack drove back to Middleton, and thence to Waddon, where Babbage and the crew of the Fury were unfeignedly glad to see him once more.
"'Tis long waiting when you don't know, sir," said Babbage. "As brother Sol used to say: 'Wait not, want not,' and true it is, though so plain."
During the rest of Monday and all Tuesday the Fury cruised down Channel, merely to kill time. The men wondered why their young commander did not sail out to sea and do some scouting work, if nothing else, but Jack did not wish to run any risks; besides, he was busily occupied in drawing up a message in the cipher used by the signaler at the Folly.
On Wednesday morning the Fury put in once more at Waddon, and Jack left again. These mysterious absences were somewhat trying to Babbage's equanimity.
"But there," he said, talking the matter over with Turley, "to gentlemen of eddication, I s'pose, our heads—yourn an' mine, Turley—be only like so many turnips."
"Mr. Babbage?" Turley's tone was one of surprise and remonstrance.