“Yep! That’s me.”
“Pardon me, Professor, but I’m a newspaper man. I represent the Daily Dredger, with which, of course, you are familiar. I have been specially commissioned by my journal to write up your exhibition. Can you favour me with a brief interview?”
At the magic word “newspaper” his manner changed. He extended a hand like a small ham.
“Right you are, mister. Always glad to see the noospaper boys.”
He ushered me into the shop, and, switching on a light, bellowed in a voice of brass, “Jinny!” From behind a crimson curtain appeared a little Jap girl in a green kimono.
“Faithful little devil!” said the Professor. “Met ’er in a Yokerhammer joint, and fetched ’er along for the sake of the show. Jinny, uncover the stock. This gen’lman’s a hintervooer.”
With eager pride the girl obeyed. From a glass case in the centre of the room she removed a covering. The case was divided into sections, in which were a number of suggestive shapes, supinely quiescent.
“We turn ’em over,” O’Flather explained, “when they ain’t working, so’s they won’t use up all their force. We need it in the business.”
Then Jinny, with the delicacy of a lover, proceeded to put each through its performance.
“That there’s Barthsheeber at the well,” said the Professor, pointing with a fat forefinger to a black speck that was frantically raising and lowering a string of buckets on an endless chain.