"Yes," said Nicky.
"Revolving turret for the guns--no higher than that--"
"Yes," said Nicky.
"Sort of armoured train. Only it mustn't run on rails. It's got to go everywhere, through anything, over anything, if it goes at all. It must turn in its own length. It must wade and burrow and climb, Nicky. It must have caterpillar wheels--"
"By Jove, of course it must," said Nicky, as if the idea had struck him for the first time.
"What have you got there?" said Drayton finally as Nicky rose and picked up his dispatch-box. "Anything interesting?
"No," said Nicky. "Mostly estimates."
For a long time afterwards he loathed the fields between Eltham and Kidbrooke, and the Mid-Kent line, and Charing Cross Station. He felt as a man feels when the woman he loves goes from him to another man. His idea had gone from him to Drayton.
And that, he said to himself, was just like his luck, just like the jolly sells that happened to him when he was a kid.
To be sure, there was such a thing as sharing. He had only to produce his plans and his finished model, and he and Drayton would go partners in the Moving Fortress. There was no reason why he shouldn't do it. Drayton had not even drawn his plans yet; he hadn't thought out the mechanical details.