“But how does it go off?”
“Why, you put the gelignite where you want to blast things, and light the fuse: it burns at the rate of about a foot a minute. Soon as she begins to sputter, you know she’s properly alight, and then you scoot as hard as you can lick. And then—bang!”
Robin regarded the expert in explosives with something akin to reverence.
“How did you find out all about it?” she asked.
“Oh, I used to see the men blasting when they were making a new railway line one year when we went to Queensland,” said Barry. “They’d always let me watch until just before they lit the fuse. I found this outfit in one of the sheds, high up on a beam—it was in an old biscuit-tin. Must have belonged to your Uncle Donald.”
“What would he do with it?”
“Oh, lots of men use it for getting rid of old stumps and trees. So I collared it, because I had a great idea!”
“What?” demanded Robin. “Tell me, Barry!”
Barry regarded her in silence for a moment, his head on one side, like an inquisitive bird.
“I thought we could have no end of a lark with it,” he said. “I’ve seen the men using it so often, and I’ve always wanted to have a bit myself.”