Mr Thompson was smartly, rather horsily dressed. He eyed Carstairs over somewhat in the manner of a horse fancier. He let it be evident also that he was satisfied.
"Have you been round yet?" he asked.
"No, not all round," Carstairs answered.
"Alright, come round with me."
"Thanks," Carstairs said. Thompson, he thought, was probably only about three or four years older than himself, and he looked less. They walked round together, Thompson explaining and pointing out peculiarities, Carstairs listening and asking questions. In ten minutes they were as chummy as school boys.
"Have you got digs?" Thompson asked, suddenly, pulling out his watch.
"No, not yet."
"Well, look here, you'll be on the day shift this week; you can go out now and get fixed. Some of the other fellows will perhaps be able to give you some addresses."
"Thanks, I'll try." Carstairs went up to the drawing office again. "I say, can any one put me up to some digs?"
Darwen was leaning over a drawing board doing some fine work, whistling softly to himself. "I can," he said. "Half a minute." He put in one or two more strokes, then he looked up. "I've got pretty decent digs; there's another bedroom empty in the house I know. You can share the sitting room with me, if you like."