"Ay!" It was a grunt of distinct approval.
They took it to pieces and spread the parts out on the table, the old man examining them one by one. He offered no comment, and Carstairs put it together again and turned it with his hand, showing the beautiful smooth running of it.
"Yon's well made! Are ye a fitter?"
"Oh, no!"
"Are ye not? I was. Will ye bring it round to the office?"
"Certainly." Carstairs dismantled it and wrapped the various parts up in paper.
"I'll take those," the old man said, and seizing two of the heavier parts, he tucked them under his arm. And thus, carrying it between them, they returned to the big works. There a long consultation was held. The junior partner (an ex-officer of the Royal Engineers) was called in, and the final result was that the firm undertook to manufacture the engine and pay royalties to Carstairs.
"I must see a lawyer and get advice as to the terms of the agreement," Carstairs said. "I'm only free in the mornings this week. Will that suit you?"
"What are ye getting yonder?" the old man asked, bluntly.
"A pound a week?"