“Thank’ee.” Ellowan shook his head with an effort, but it came harder this tune. “I’m an honest worker, sir, and it’s one of the rules that I can’t be taking what I cannot earn. But there’s never a piece of copper to be found in all the city for me to mend.” He laid his hands on a blackened bench to ease the ache in his legs.
“Now that’s a shame.” The brogue dropped from Donahue’s speech, now that the surprise of seeing the elf was leaving him. “It’s a good worker you are, too, if what my father told me was true. He came over from the old country when I was a bit of a baby, and his
father told him before that. Wonderful workers, he said you were.”
“I am that.” It was a simple statement as Ellowan made it; boasting requires a certain energy, even had he felt like it. “Anything of brass or copper I can fix, and it’ll be like new when I finish.”
“Can you that?” Donahue looked at him with interest. “Eh, maybe you can. I’ve a notion to try you out. You wait here.” He disappeared through the door that divided his smithy from the auto servicing department and came back with a large piece of blackened metal hi his hand. The elf smelled it questioningly and found it was brass.
Donahue tapped it lightly. “That’s a radiator, m’boy. Water runs through these tubes here and these little fins cool it off. Old Pete Yaegger brought it in and wanted it fixed, but it’s too far ruined for my hands. And he can’t afford a new one. You fix that now, and I’ll be giving you a nice bit of money for the work.”
“Fix it I can.” Ellowan’s hands were trembling as he inspected the corroded metal core, and began drawing out his tools. “I’ll be finished within the hour.”
Donahue looked doubtfully at the elf, but nodded slowly. “Now maybe you will. But first, you’ll eat, and we’ll not be arguing about that. A hungry man never did good work, and I’m of the opinion the same applies to yourself. There’s still a sandwich and a bit of pie left, if you don’t mind washing it down with water.”
The elf needed no water to wash down the food. When Donahue looked at him next, the crumbs had been licked from the paper, and Ellowan’s deft hands were working his clever little tools through the fins of the radiator, and his face was crinkling up into its usual merry smile. The metal seemed to run and flow through his hands with a will of its own, and he was whistling lightly as he worked.
Ellowan waited intently as Donahue inspected the finished work. Where the blackened metal had been bent and twisted, and filled with holes, it was now shining and new. The smith could find no sign to indicate
that it was not all one single piece, now, for the seams were joined invisibly.
“Now that’s craftsmanship,” Donahue admitted. “I’m thinking we’ll do a deal of business from now on, the two of us, and there’s money in it, too. Ellowan, m’boy, with work like that we can buy up old radiators, remake them, and at a nice little profit for ourselves we can sell them again. You’ll be searching no further for labor.”
The elf’s eyes twinkled at the prospect of long lines of radiators needing to be fixed, and a steady supply of work without the need of searching for it. For the first tune, he realized that industrialization might have its advantages for the worker.
Donahue dug into a box and came out with a little metal figure of a greyhound, molded on a threaded cap. “Now, while I get something else for you, you might be fixing this,” he said. ” Tis a godsend that you’ve come to me…. Eh, now that I think of it, what brings you here, when I thought it’d be in the old country you worked?”
“That was my home,” the elf agreed, twisting the radiator cap in his hands and straightening out the broken threads. “But the people became too poor hi the country, and the cities were filled with coal smoke. And then there was word of a new land across the sea, so we left, such of us as remained, and it was here we stayed until the smoke came again, and sent us sleeping into the hills. Eh, it’s glad I am now to be awake again.”
Donahue nodded. “And it’s not sorry I am. I’m a good blacksmith, but there’s never enough of that for a man to live now, and mostly I work on the autos. And there, m’boy, you’ll be a wonderful help to be sure. The parts I like least are the ignition system and generator, and there’s copper in them where your skill will be greater than mine. And the radiators, of course.”
Ellowan’s hands fumbled on the metal, and he set it down suddenly. “Those radiators, now—they come from a car?”
“That they do.” Donahue’s back was turned as he drew a horseshoe out of the forge and began hammering it on the anvil. He could not see the twinkle fade from
the elf’s eyes and the slowness with which the small fingers picked up the radiator cap.
Ellowan was thinking of his people, asleep in the hills, doomed to lie there until the air should be cleared of the poisonous fumes. And here he was, working on parts of the machines that helped to make those fumes. Yet, since there was little enough else to do, he had no choice but to keep on; cars or no cars, food was still the . prime necessity.
Donahue bent the end of a shoe over to a calk and hammered it into shape, even with the other one. “You’ll be wanting a place to sleep?” he asked casually. “Well, now, I’ve a room at the house that used to be my boy’s, and it’ll just suit you. The boy’s at college and won’t be needing it.”
“Thank’ee kindly.” Ellowan finished the cap and put it aside distastefully.
“The boy’ll be a great engineer some day,” the smith went on with a glow of pride. “And not have to follow his father in the trade. And it’s a good thing, I’m thinking. Because some day, when they’ve used up all their coal and oil, there’ll be no money in the business at all, even with the help of these newfangled things. My father was a smith, and I’m by way of being smith and mechanic—but not the boy.”
“They’ll use up all the coal and oil—entirely?”
“They will that, now. Nobody knows when, but the day’s acoming. And then they’ll be using electricity or maybe alcohol for fuel. It’s a changing world, lad, and we old ones can’t change to keep with it.”
Ellowan picked up the radiator cap and polished it again. Eh, so. One day they’d use up all the sources of evil, and the air would be pure again. The more cars that ran, the sooner that day would come, and the more he repaired, the more would run.
“Eh, now,” he said gayly. “I’ll be glad for more of those radiators to mend. But until then, perchance I could work a bit of yonder scrap brass into more such ornaments as this one.”
Somehow, he was sure, when his people came forth again, there’d be work for all.
Hereafter, Inc.
Phineas theophilus potts, who would have been the last to admit and the first to believe he was a godly man, creaked over in bed and stuck out one scrawny arm wrathfully. The raucous jangling of the alarm was an unusually painful cancer in his soul that morning. Then his waking mind took over and he checked his hand, bringing it down on the alarm button with precise, but gentle, firmness. Would he never learn to control these little angers? In this world one should bear all troubles with uncomplaining meekness, not rebel against them; otherwise—But it was too early in the morning to think of that.
He wriggled out of bed and gave his thoughts over to the ritual of remembering yesterday’s sins, checking to make sure all had been covered and wiped out the night before. That’s when he got his first shock; he couldn’t remember anything about the day before—bad, very bad. Well, no doubt it was another trap of the forces conspiring to secure Potts’ soul. Teh, tch. Terrible, but he could circumvent even that snare.
There was no mere mumbling by habit to his confession; word after word rolled off his tongue carefully with full knowledge and unctuous shame until he reached the concluding lines. “For the manifold sins which I have committed and for this greater sin which
now afflicts me, forgive and guide me to sin no more, but preserve me in righteousness all the days of my life. Amen.” Thus having avoided the pitfall and saved himself again from eternal combustion, he scrubbed hands with himself and began climbing into his scratchy underclothes and cheap black suit. Then he indulged in a breakfast of dry toast and buttermilk flavored with self-denial and was ready to fare forth into the world of ‘ temptation around him.
The telephone jangled against his nerves and he jumped, grabbing for it impatiently before he remembered; he addressed the mouthpiece contritely. “Phineas Potts speaking.”
It was Mr. Sloane, his lusty animal voice barking out from the receiver. “’Lo, Phin, they told me you’re ready to come down to work today. Business is booming and we can use you. How about it?”
“Certainly, Mr. Sloane. I’m not one to shirk my duty.” There was no reason for the call that Potts could see;
