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 Goes on a-mountin’ like a flood, Higher ’n higher,—’n no pertence To one half-toothful o’ solid sense. Mick said you’d help me measure wood. Measure mosquitoes! You’re no good! Said, you was shorter ways to add— Reckon short cuts is mostly bad. Can’t swallow stuff with shirkin’ to’t. ....Besides....I don’ see how you do’t, Nor why,—nor what— Oh, you ain’t much! Clear! I can’t be bothered by such.

(Flings the book across the room.)

Here, let’s look how that iron acks My! that’s visible, if you like. Figures be flutter’d! I’m for facks!

(Making a fork of the fencing-wire, he solders it on to the pinion of the clock, and fits all inside the hull. Then, boring a hole in the stern.)

Water within ’ud be a sin.... Vinegar-cork! you trundle in.

(Fits the cork into the hole, and leads the wire through it so as to engage with the fork.)

Now, what’s to make her jolly screw? Tin....thin....? Here, biscuit-box—you’ll do!

(From the lid of a biscuit-box, he cuts out and fixes a propeller.)

Try her, now—wind her up an’ try! Maiden trip in the water-tank!

(Lights a candle, and, going outside, clambers with the model up on to the rain-water tank.)