now," cried Macey; "this is what you were thinking about that day we
had Rounds' boat."

"Well, yes," said Vane, quietly. "I couldn't help thinking how slow and
laborious rowing seemed to be, and how little change has been made in
all these years that are passed. You see," he continued, warming to his
subject, "there is so much waste of manual labour. It took two of us to
move that boat and not very fast either."

"And only one sitting quite still to upset it," said Gilmore quietly.

Macey started, as if he had been stung.

"There's a coward," he cried. "I thought you weren't going to say any
more about it."

"Slipped out all at once, Aleck," said Gilmore.

"But you were quite right," said Vane. "Two fellows toiling hard, and
just one idea from another's brain proved far stronger."

"Now you begin," groaned Macey. "Oh, I say, don't! I wouldn't have old
Distie know for anything. You chaps are mean."

"Go on, Vane," cried Gilmore.

"There's nothing more to go on about, for I haven't worked out the idea
thoroughly."

"I know," cried Macey, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

"I thought," continued Vane dreamily, "that one might contrive a little
paddle or screw--"

"And work it with hot-water pipes," cried Macey.

It was Vane's turn to wince now; and he made a pretence of throwing a
book at Macey, who ducked down below the table, and then slowly raised
his eyes to the level as Vane went on.

"Then you could work that paddle by means of cranks."

"Only want one--old Weathercock. Best crank I know," cried Macey.

"Will you be quiet," cried Gilmore. "Go on, Vane."

"That is nearly all," said the latter, thoughtfully, and looking
straight before him, as if he could see the motive-power he mentally
designed.

"But how are you going to get the thing to work?"

"Kitchen-boiler," cried Macey.

Gilmore made "an offer" at him with his fist, but Macey dodged again.

"Oh, one might move it by working a lever with one's hands."

"Then you might just as well row," said Gilmore.

"Well, then, by treadles, with one's feet."

"Oh--oh--oh!" roared Macey. "Don't! don't! Who's going to be put on
the tread-mill when he wants to have a ride in a boat? Why, I--"

"Pst! Syme!" whispered Gilmore, as a step was heard. Then the door
opened, and Distin came in, looking languid and indifferent.

"Morning," cried Gilmore. "Better?"

Distin gave him a short nod, paid no heed to the others, and went t