“Pretty sweet, eh, Grey?” he said, at the exclamation of pleasure I didn’t restrain.
“Great!” said I. “And aboard a vessel, at that!”
His brow clouded a second as he replied:
“And right there you’ve hit upon my greatest difficulty. Of course, right now, with booms broad off, and scarcely any sea, I can work to perfection. But heavy weather is apt to put me out of commission. I’ve tried every possible scheme to overcome the trouble—even to having a swinging table, but no go. But, oh, here!”
And he snapped over to another tone—a brighter one.
“I believe we’ve got time,” he added, as he rummaged into the interior of a small cabinet, “and, strange as it may seem, it’s the first time I ever tried the thing. It’ll certainly interest you.”
I said nothing in reply, but watched him closely as his nimble fingers, with the facility of long practice, flew from plate holder to tray, from bottle to graduate. And next moment we were standing side by side, craning over a negative coming to life.
“To my way of thinking,” said he, as he gently rocked the fluid across the dull face of the plate, “you can’t beat the old tray development; I’ll have none of that tank stuff in mine.”
“I agree with you heartily there,” I replied. “But what is this, anyway?”
The lines on the negative were beginning to take a significance distinctly reminiscent.