But while men talked and speculated, they watched with eager interest the development of Frauenstein’s great project. Stevens, the doctor, and all the chiefs of the operations, declared that their men worked with a devotion unparalleled. The social lunch became the rule, and the men ceased carrying their tin-kettles almost without exception. Too Soon had as much as he could manage among the brickmakers, and so the doctor put up another temporary building, about half-way between the site of the palace and the woods, and a similar lunch provision to that for Stevens’ men, was established for the others. Too Soon, however, could not be outdone, or even rivaled, by any one the doctor could find. The Chinaman became a favorite with the men and with the idle boys, that were at first a pest around the building, attracted by the unusual state of things, or by the chance of getting something to eat, in exchange for taking a turn at chopping Too Soon’s cold meat and vegetables, for he was an economist by the transmitted instinct of generations. He saved his gravy and dripping, and produced a hash every other day, which became famous for its excellence. Too Soon was wonderfully neat and methodical. He would not do the slightest thing for the boys until his work was all done; but when they had helped him clear the tables, wash the dishes, lock them away in the pantry, and sweep out the place, he would entertain them by the most wonderful jugglery or slight-of-hand feats. He spun tops up inclined planes, and strings, made paper butterflies, that, under the influence of his fan, acted for all the world like live ones endowed with reason; and Young America soon learned that it was in its very swaddling-clothes in the art of kite-flying. Too Soon was now a hero, and the boys fully atoned for their former meanness to him, when he was a forlorn wretch in their streets. They would do anything so that he could get his work done. Sometimes they actually crowded him away from his wash-tub, and rubbed out the napkins and table-cloths themselves. The way he dampened his clothes, preparatory to ironing them, was great fun. To this end he used to fill his mouth with water, and, by some trick they never could imitate, send it out over the linen in a fine mist. One or two of them partly learned the secret, and astonished Biddy at home by what they knew about clothes-dampening.