"Good man! I knew you'd hit upon the answer. Do tell, or I shall drag the information out of you."
Quickly, I told him about my idea, and his eyes lit up instantly. "That is genius!" he declared. "Come, let us not waste a single moment. To the cellar!"
– — Ω — –
We left the study with our equipment, the professor cradling the generator in his arms while I bore the delicate attractor machine. As we entered the hall we encountered Mrs Fairacre carrying away the remains of the breakfast things. She took one look at the outlandish machines and gave a sniff of disapproval, before marching away with her head held high.
"That good lady is not overly impressed with my chosen occupation," whispered the professor. "She fears it will end me one day."
I guessed that the housekeeper's concerns arose out of her feeling for him, but I was not crass enough to say so.
We took the corridor to the cellar door, which I held open so the professor could take the stairs with his larger, more cumbersome load. I followed, and noted that heat rose up the narrow stairs despite the fact the equipment was not in use. "Do you keep the boiler running at all times?" I asked the professor. "Only I notice you purchase a lot of coal."
"Mrs Fairacre sends a girl down to light the furnace in the mornings. It's an expense, certainly, but if Roberta or I need to carry out our work we cannot afford to wait several hours for steam to build."
We reached the foot of the stairs, where we placed the equipment on a nearby workbench. The professor set to work on the generator's wooden handle, removing it before fitting a collar to the exposed shaft. He seemed to be in good spirits, and he kept up a chirpy commentary as he worked. He was convinced the spirit attractor would lead to a change in his fortunes, and he spoke of building several of the devices once he had sufficient funds. After that, he envisaged hiring additional workers that could be despatched to all points of the city, thus servicing a large number of clients at once.
I did not ask him how he intended to power all of these devices, and contented myself with listening to his grandiose plans.
I did not have anything to do at first, but soon the professor had me forming narrow strips of metal. There were several of these, and I guessed they would be used to hold the generator down. Meanwhile, the professor worked on the lathe, preparing the axle so it could be attached to the generator shaft.
It took perhaps an hour, but this part of our work was finally completed. After that, the professor used an auger to drill four holes in the surface of a sturdy work table. "Do not tell Roberta," he panted, as he applied himself to the labour. "This is a favourite of hers, but it's just the size we need."
"What exactly is a favourite of mine?"
We both started guiltily, and then turned to see Roberta descending the stairs. I was glad to see she looked rested, but I'm certain the professor wished she had slept for another few minutes. He was trying to stand in front of the bench, the augur concealed behind his back, but it was a waste of time because Roberta merely had to crane her neck to look past him. "I see the woodworm have been particularly active this time of year," she remarked.
"I'm sorry my dear, but this old bench had to be sacrificed in the name of scientific advances. Needs must, as they say."
"Indeed they should, for I will need a new bench and you must pay for it."
I interrupted quickly, before their dispute scaled into a full-scale argument. "Roberta, your father and I are attempting to increase the output of the electrical generator by attaching it to the spinning end of the lathe."
Roberta's eyebrows rose at this news, and she looked from the generator to the lathe and back again. Then she inspected the metal strips I'd fashioned on the professor's instructions. "These will not hold," she said flatly.
"They will suffice," said the professor.
"I assure you they will not."
"And I say they will!"
"They won't, not even if you drilled holes in that block of wood you call a head and attached these pieces with half a pound of screws."
The professor was taken aback at her vehemence. "As you appear so convinced of yourself, I would ask you to explain."
"This metal has been infused, father dear. It is so brittle as to be useless, and your precious generator would have come loose, flown through the air and likely taken your heads off."
Chastened, the professor took the strips from her hand and discarded them. "Perhaps, now you are here…" he began.
"I will attend to it." Roberta looked at me. "Was this your idea?"
"The metal?"
"No, attaching father's generator to the lathe."
I nodded, and in return she gave me a smile. "I shall have to be careful, or you will put me out of work."
"Never!" I protested. "Why, your drawings and diagrams are the most amazing work I have ever seen."
"Really?" asked Roberta, raising one eyebrow. "And when did you have occasion to study them?"
I felt a chill as I realised I had trapped myself. "I saw a few pages when we visited your room together. It was just a quick glance, if I'm completely honest, but—"
"—but you thought to compliment me, regardless." She gave me a look. "You will not win my favour with honeyed words, Mr Jones, particularly false ones."
"I apologise."
"Do not fret, Mr Jones," said
