I nodded, and soon I was busy at the arbor press. The metal was indeed harder to bend, but eventually I had all four pieces prepared. Afterwards, Roberta took an auger and a small can of mineral oil, and we took it in turns to work small fastening-holes through the metal.
The professor had finished lining up the generator with the lathe, and he was slowly turning the shaft by hand to inspect the joint for straightness. I understood why, since the lathe would be spinning at high speed and the slightest distortion might tear the delicate generator apart.
Roberta took him the metal supports, and they were still fastening the generator when Elsie, the young housemaid, came down the steps with a platter of thick sandwiches, a jug of beer and three glasses. "Mrs Fairacre's compliments," she said, "and she thought lunch might be welcome."
"Welcome indeed!" cried the professor. "Come, let us eat and we'll finish the task afterwards."
Elsie was looking around for a clear spot to place the tray, but in vain.
"Why, if only we had that workbench of mine," said Roberta, fixing her father with a glare.
In reply, he swept a shelf clear with his arm, sending pieces of metal and stray items clattering to the floor. Elsie winced at the noise, then advanced carefully with the tray, trying not to step on the scattered odds and ends. She set it down, then bobbed her head at the professor. "Begging pardon, but Mrs Fairacre says there's a storm brewing. She asks if you want the shutters drawn."
"Most definitely," said the professor. "Please ask her to attend to it immediately, and when you speak with her, be certain to thank her for the sandwiches."
"Yessir." Elsie departed, but only after a backward glance at the mess she would probably have to tidy later. In that moment I resolved to pick the items up myself, for it hardly seemed fair to burden the girl with the result of the professor's ill temper.
– — Ω — –
The professor was eager to fire up the generator and test his spirit attractor, and he wolfed his sandwiches down before I had finished my first. He was still dashing crumbs from his coat as he crossed to the steam distributor, where he tapped a glass-fronted gauge before adjusting the wheel on a pressure valve.
"He'll choke on his meals one of these days," muttered Roberta. "Just look at him. He's like a child of five."
She spoke with affection, despite the words, and I noticed that she too was eating with unseemly haste. The sandwiches were delicious, consisting of thin-sliced salted ham between hunks of crusty bread, the whole flavoured with hot mustard. I washed mine down with a glass of ale, and had barely done so when I discovered I was sitting alone. Roberta had gone to the lathe, where she was inspecting her father's work. She turned her back to him to make an adjustment or two, so that he would not observe her.
The professor spun a large valve wheel attached to the wall, and steam hissed and whistled as it filled the pipes leading around the cellar. These rattled and banged, and I saw jets emanating from several joints where the lead solder must have developed minute cracks from the stress.
Meanwhile, high above the professor's head, a large axle parallel to the ceiling began to turn. This axle was affixed to a large worm gear in the corner, which turned a second axle leading to the lathe. The speed of both axles increased with the steam pressure, until they were spinning so fast I could feel the rumbling of their bearings transmitted directly through the soles of my shoes. Plaster and soot rained down from the ceiling, and I eyed the brackets restraining these heavy, fast-moving axles with some trepidation. If they were to come free…
"Ready!" called the professor, and Roberta sprang into action. She took hold of the big lever beside the lathe and pulled down hard, engaging the broad driving belt. The lathe hesitated, then began to spin faster and faster, and as it did so I saw a glow emanating from the generator attached to the far end. The speed increased further, and I saw the device straining against the metal brackets I'd fashioned earlier. The workbench shook and shuddered, and I feared it might not hold.
The professor left his post and hurried over to the machine, stopping to collect a small burlap sack on the way. This looked heavy, despite its modest size, and the professor winced as he braced himself. He staggered towards the workbench containing the generator and swung the sack forward in one quick motion, laying it across the braces near the foot of the workbench's legs. The weight of the sack dampened the shuddering immediately, and, having averted catastrophe, the professor now turned his attention to the generator.
Roberta watched him from her position at the lever, where she waited in case the lathe had to be stopped in a hurry.
There were two electrical leads attached to one side of the generator, each terminating in an insulated clamp. The professor took a clamp in each hand and struck them together briefly, causing a fat blue spark. Then he turned a fierce grin on Roberta, and a grateful one on me. "My boy, you are indeed a genius!" he shouted, raising his voice over the hiss of steam and the rumble of machinery.
