"Well, ye can start here in the drawing office on Monday at £2. Will that do ye?"
"Thanks, I'll give notice to-day."
The next six months passed like six days to Carstairs; he hadn't time to write to any of his friends and only an occasional scribble to his mother. At the end of that time the first engine built on his model was finished and had completed a most satisfactory run. Then he took a holiday, and went home.
He had entirely lost track of all his friends and station acquaintances.
"Bessie is not engaged," his father told him, "but Darwen still pesters her with his attentions."
Jack was thoughtful. "She's a jolly decent girl, Bessie! If Darwen were only honest! I shall go up to London, I want to see his mother." So next day Carstairs went off.
He called at Darwen's office.
"Hullo, old chap! How's the Carstairs' patent high-speed engine going? Eh?"
It was the same old, handsome, healthy Darwen; bright-eyed, pink-cheeked, lively.
"Oh, alright. Is your mother in London?"