“What is that you’re making?” asked Sahwah, curiously.
“It’s a long story,” said the man, taking off his hat, pulling a handkerchief out of it and putting it back on his head, and then falling to work again.
“Must be a genius,” thought Sahwah, “that’s what makes him act so queerly.” She waited a few minutes in silence and then curiosity got the better of her. “Is it too long to tell?” she asked.
“Eh? What’s that?” asked the man, turning toward her. He took off his hat, put his handkerchief back in again and then put the hat back on his head.
“I asked you,” said Sahwah, politely, “if the story of what you are making is too long to tell.”
“Not at all, not at all,” said the man, and resumed his work without another word.
“How impolite!” thought Sahwah. “To urge me to stay and then refuse to answer my questions.” Her eyes strayed around the room at the bookcases and cabinets. Every cabinet was filled with clocks or parts of clocks. The books as far as she could see were all about machinery. One was a book of such astounding width of binding that she leaned over to read the title. The letters were so faded that they were hardly visible. “L,” she read, “E, F, E——”
“It’s a machine for saving time,” said the man at the table, so suddenly that Sahwah jumped.
“How interesting!” she said. “How does it work?”
The man fitted a rod into a wheel and apparently forgot her existence. She sat silent a few minutes more and then decided she had better go home. She rose softly to her feet. “It’s something like a clock,” said the man, without looking up from his work.