“And how did your father get these parts made?” asked Julia. She knew something of machinery, as her own father was a manufacturer.
“Dad made the patterns, in wood, you know, then he had them cast in the city. He assembled the parts himself, of course. I have never allowed an eye to rest on this,” she declared, “for to me it is all something sacred. When Uncle Edward comes he will only have to finish the negotiations with the patent office and ship them this model. It is not so big—that is one of its great attractions.” She seemed to fondle the queer-looking machine, which was, as she said, not very large; it could all be put in a crate the size of a packing case.
“And men came last night to break in just to see this?” It was incredible, Louise thought.
“Yes, but there is more than the machine you see,” said Peg. “There are the drawings, and samples of ore and—other things. I have those in your safe you know,” finished Peg.
“It is dear of you to trust us with all this——” began Julia.
“I wanted to do it, you have been so splendid to me,” declared the black-haired girl. “And I must have seemed so—bitter!”
“No, just mysterious, and that made you fascinating,” declared Grace, giving Peg a counterfeit hug.
“But how did you do any of this sort of work?” pressed Corene, still looking at the formidable machine.
“I have a hand drill, and every single day I spend some time just as dad did, collecting specimens. You see, I am looking for zinc.”
“What does it look like?” asked Cleo.