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Don Ippolito had slept upon his interview with Ferris, and now sat in his laboratory, amidst the many witnesses of his inventive industry, with the model of the breech-loading cannon on the workbench before him.
Besides, the baker had not been paid for four weeks, so, sighing heavily, he dragged himself to the workbench to move the burin with a weary hand. Wolf had followed him with his eyes, and the sight of the chivalrous hero, the father of the girl whom he loved, undertaking such a wretched occupation, in such a mood, pierced him to the heart.
"I have a brother that tried it one time. And after he got through with that band of sheep, it would have taken Solomon to straighten out the family troubles. One thousand of them. Some had twins and some did n't have any, and the bunch was full of robber lambs." "What's robber lambs?" asked Diefenbach, who had now turned his back on the workbench.
"Evidently not," the old man rejoined. "Well, you can have your wish fur's carpenterin' goes. You can putter round here much as you like." Mr. Snelling moved toward the long workbench. "This is a neat thing," remarked he, regarding the unfinished invention quite as if he had never heard of it before. "What are you doing here?" A glow of satisfaction spread over the little fellow's kindly face.
"You haven't made the copy already!" "Oh, I loved doing it!" she replied, and paused, flushing. She might have known that it would be simply impossible to talk to him about it! So she laid it down on the workbench, and, overcome by a sudden shyness, retreated toward the door. "You're not going!" he exclaimed. "I must and you're busy."
Before daylight, Tom was back at his workbench ready to begin assembling the units of his new sonar gear. Later he phoned Chow but scarcely paused to eat when the cook arrived with his order. "Brand my solar stovepipe!" Chow scolded. "Take time to eat your vittles properly, boss!" "Hmm?... Oh, sure." Tom looked up and grinned. The stout old Texan stomped out, shaking his head.
He looked at the pistols on the desk and moved one or two of them. "Did you get the one the coroner had? Goode said something " "Oh, yes; I got that yesterday." Rand turned and went to the workbench, bringing back the Leech & Rigdon, which he handed to Dunmore. "That's it. I fired out the other five charges, and cleaned it at the State Police substation."
There was a desk in one corner, and back of it a short workbench and tool-cabinet. There was a long table in the middle of the room, its top covered with green baize, upon which many flat rectangular boxes of hardwood rested some walnut, some rosewood, some quartered oak. Each would contain a pistol or pair of pistols, with cleaning and loading tools.
As he named the list he was conscious that it smacked rather too suggestively of a brakeman's, and he saw she thought so too, for she turned aside to hide a smile. "You might sit down; won't you?" he suggested, eager that she should not depart. Flecking the dust from the soap box with his handkerchief, he dragged it forward and placed it near the workbench.
Dinner finished, he went up to the gunroom and began compiling his list. He found a yardstick, and thumbtacked it to the edge of the desk to get over-all and barrel lengths, and used a pair of inside calipers and a decimal-inch rule from the workbench to get calibers.
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