O’Reilly treated the two lads to what Eves described as a topping lunch, and afterwards spent half an hour in a close examination of the specification. "I like the looks of it," he said, finally. "Have you given it a trial?" "Not yet," replied Templeton. "I’ve rigged up the mechanism, rather roughly, on an old road-sweeper I got cheap, and a little more tinkering should put it in working order. I might be able to try it on Saturday afternoon when I’m clear of the shop." "Well, then, I’m the way of making you an offer. I’ll run down on Saturday and watch your trial. If the creature works, I’ll pay for the installation on a respectable car, and finance you up to a thousand pounds. You’ll pay me six per cent. interest and repay the capital just when you can." "It’s really too good of you, Mr. O’Reilly," said Templeton. "Sorra a bit, my boy. I’m doing you no favour; ’tis business, and there’s no denying it." "Splendid!" said Eves. "You’ve got your chance at last, Bob. Remember me, old man, when the profits come rolling in. I’ve stood by you in many old rags. I tell you what, I’ll write your advertisements, and make your reversible steering as famous as Beecham’s pills." "I wouldn’t wonder but you’ve got a flowery style, Mr. Eves," said O’Reilly. "Now, if so be you mean to catch your train, you’d better be off. I’ll see you on Saturday." They took a taxi and arrived at the station in good time. After securing seats, Eves walked the length of the train to see whether Noakes was their fellow-passenger. There was no sign of him. Eves kept an eye on the platform from the window of his compartment until the train moved off, but Noakes had not appeared. "He’ll go on the razzle, I suppose," he remarked, as he dropped into the corner opposite Templeton. "But he can’t keep it up long. Isn’t Saturday the day for that old ceremony—what do they call it?—anointing the British Stone? I’d made up my mind to see that; it will be a bit of a rag to finish up my holiday with. I suppose you’ll be too much occupied with your road-sweeper to bother about it?" "Well, you see, the afternoons are short now, and as O’Reilly is coming down specially——" "Just so. Business before pleasure. I foresee the end of our old friendship. ’But O the heavy change now thou art gone!’ Milton, old chap. That’s what I shall say when I think of the spiffing rags we’ve had together, and mourn for the days that are no more. Hand over that Punch, or I shall burst into tears. Perhaps I shall anyhow." Next morning, when Templeton arrived at the shop, he found Wilkins standing at the door, an image of truculence. "You didn’t turn up yesterday," he cried. "What was you after, eh?" "As I explained in my note, I had to make a sudden journey to London."