Darwen smiled. "You must give 'em a bit, old chap." He leaned back in his office chair, and looked up at Carstairs, who was standing.
"A bit. By George! If she passes on load, she can't pass, by pounds, on the steam consumption. However, you're the chief. It's for you to pass it, not me."
"You mistake, old chap." Darwen's voice was remarkably suave and silvery. "That's part of your job, to test all the engines."
"Very well, then I don't pass it. I'll stop it at once and tell them to start taking it down to return to the makers."
"That won't do, old chap, we must have the engine, can't get on without it much longer. You know that better than I do."
"Alright, then let us take it at three quarters its specified power.
"That's absurd, old chap."
"Well, I have nothing further to suggest, unless you test the engine and pass it yourself."
"No, I shan't do that. Perhaps—er—perhaps some other chief assistant would do it."
"Quite so."