His slumbering ears were just conscious of a shout from below; but he paid no heed to it, even when it was repeated. He was settling down in luxurious warmth to that early morning sleep which so deliciously rounds off the night’s repose, when two sinewy hands wrenched away the bedclothes wherein he had rolled himself, and Templeton shouted: "Get up, you slugabed. It’s come!" "Cover me up, confound you!" cried Eves, wrathfully. "I shall catch my death of cold." "Get up. I’ve been dressed half an hour. It’s come, I tell you." Eves bent his knees and pulled his pyjamas down over his ankles. "I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I don’t care. Mrs. Pouncey"—he raised his voice—"come and drag this murdering ruffian away. He’s giving me pneumonia." "Don’t be an ass, Tom. Breakfast is nearly ready, and as the nozzle has just come by parcel post, I want to fix it and see how it works before I go off to the shop." "You and your inventions will be the death of me," grumbled Eves, hugging himself. Then with a sudden movement he caught up his pillow, slammed it at Templeton’s head, followed it up with a rush, and began to throw off his pyjamas. "Get out!" he cried. "I’ll tub and dress in five minutes—not for you, old greaser, but for the bacon I smell frying." "Well, I’ll have time to fit on the nozzle before you’re down." He dashed out of the room, took the staircase in three resounding leaps, and ran bare-headed through the rain to the shed. Eves smiled as he watched him through the window. "Old Bob’s excited this morning," he thought. "Another rag, I wonder?" Templeton’s usual stolidity was in fact quite broken down by the arrival of the nozzle made to his own design, for which he had been waiting in order to complete his reconstruction of the ancient road-sweeper. At breakfast he was too much excited to do full justice to the dish of bacon and eggs which the excellent Mrs. Pouncey had provided. "It’s just the thing, Tom," he cried. "It fits perfectly, and I believe the old ’bus will go like one o’clock. The only thing left, if it does work, is to complete my specification and fire it in at the Patent Office." "I don’t see that. Nobody wants a road-sweeper to go like a Rolls-Royce." "You don’t understand. I’m not out for making road-sweepers. I only bought the old thing to experiment on. It’s the reversible steering I’m going to patent. Look here; here’s my rough draft. That’ll give you an idea of what I’m driving at." Eves took the paper handed to him, and read aloud: "’I, Robert Templeton, of the Red House, Wonston, Hampshire, in the Kingdom of England, lately a lieutenant in His Majesty’s Forces, do hereby declare the nature of this invention and in what manner the same is to be performed to be particularly described and ascertained in and by the following——’ Oh, I say! I can’t wade through all this balderdash. Tell me in plain English what you’re after."