"What's wrong" asked the inventor, quickly, springing forward and bending over to examine.
"The pipe is about a half inch too long," replied Owen.
"But one of the superintendent's men over at the machine shop can cut it to fit?" asked the inventor, looking uneasy.
"Oh, he can cut it all right, but there's the new thread to be cut, too," explained the foreman, pointing. "I'm sorry, sir, but if you want a good job, without any danger of botch, you'll have to wire the contractors to rush a new pipe, cut exactly to the specifications."
"But that will delay us at least forty-eight hours, and the launching date is so near at hand," protested the inventor.
"You'd better put your launching off two days, Mr. Pollard, than take any chances of having a bad connection in your fuel feed pipes," argued the foreman.
"Confound such luck!" growled Pollard, turning away. "Well, come over to the office with me, and we'll wire a kick and a prayer to the contractors."
Just as he turned, the inventor barely failed to overhear something that
Jack muttered in an aside to Hal.
"What's that you're saying, Benson?" demanded David Pollard.
"Oh, nothing much, sir," replied Jack, quickly. "I'm not foreman here, nor much of anything, for that matter."