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Updated: July 4, 2025
He admired the cast-iron beams, as one might call them, and the twin bars of steel coupled together with indestructible bolts. "If you were to give seven rapid turns to that crank," said Spieghalter, pointing out a beam of polished steel, "you would make a steel bar spurt out in thousands of jets, that would get into your legs like needles." "The deuce!" exclaimed Raphael.
Planchette himself slipped the piece of skin between the metal plates of the all-powerful press; and, brimful of the certainty of a scientific conviction, he worked the crank energetically. "Lie flat, all of you; we are dead men!" thundered Spieghalter, as he himself fell prone on the floor. A hideous shrieking sound rang through the workshops.
"That would be exceedingly useful," Planchette replied. "We will go to Spieghalter to-morrow, sir," he continued, with the serenity of a man living on a plane wholly intellectual. "That distinguished mechanic has just completed, after my own designs, an improved mechanical arrangement by which a child could get a thousand trusses of hay inside his cap." "Then good-bye till to-morrow."
The workmen hurried in. The foreman took the skin and buried it in the glowing coal of a forge, while, in a semi-circle round the fire, they all awaited the action of a huge pair of bellows. Raphael, Spieghalter, and Professor Planchette stood in the midst of the grimy expectant crowd.
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