When he had spread out his ink, his pens, his pencil, and ruler, his blotting-paper, and all the scraps he had to copy on the table before him, he began his work, and wrote on for half-an-hour at least with the air of a man who knew no better pleasure. But when he got to the conclusion of the page he laid down his pen and began to think. He had a quickly working mind, readily moved by any suggestion, taking up a cue and running on from it in lines of thought which amused him sometimes with a certain appearance of originality, enough to impose upon any chance listener, and always upon himself. This led him into mental amplifications of the text that was before him, and gave him a certain pleasure at first even in his work of copying. He thought of two or three things which he felt would be great improvements upon John’s plan as he went on, and at the end of each page he mused for an hour or so upon that and a hundred other subjects into which it ran. And then he roused up suddenly and turned the leaf and wrote a few sentences more; and then it occurred to him that it was time to eat something, as his breakfast had been a very light one. He went out accordingly, having still money in his pocket, to get his luncheon, and lingered a little to wash down the hot and savoury sausage which was agreeable to a stomach not in very good order, and met Joe, who was hanging about on the outlook for his mate. Joe returned with him to pilot his friend safely through the little-known streets to the room in which John, in his simplicity, had believed his protégé would be safe from all such influences, and went in with him to bear him company. Then, after March had rested from these fatigues, his comrade aroused his interest not unskilfully. ‘I ’eard him say,’ remarked Joe, ‘as them papers would make ‘is fortin.’ ‘So he thinks, poor lad; and I hope they may, for he’s a good lad and has been very kind to me.’ ‘Droll to think you can make a fortin’ by writin’ on bits of paper,’ said Joe, touching John’s notes with his grimy hand (and indeed that opinion is shared by many people), ‘is it story-books, or wot is it!’ Mr. March laughed with genuine enjoyment, leaning back in his chair. ‘No, you ignoramus,’ he said; ‘don’t you see its figures, calculations, things you can understand still less than story-books? It’s a great scheme, Joe, my fine fellow, for turning the water out of the river and making the floods into dry land.’ ‘You’re laughing at a poor fellow, guv’nor. I aint no scholard. And what’ll be done with the land? Will he farm it, or build on’t, or what’ll he do with it, when he’s got it? Doin’ away with the river would be little good, as I can see.’ ‘Joe, you are a donkey,’ said his mate; ‘don’t you know there’s floods every year, and water in the houses, and water on the fields, and destruction everywhere. And this young fellow is an engineer, and means to put a stop to that.’