Chapter XIII
Once more Peer stood in his workroom down at the foundry, wrestling with
fire and steel.
A working drawing is a useful thing; an idea in one's head is all very
well. But the men he employed to turn his plans into tangible models
worked slowly; why not use his own hands for what had to be done?
When the workmen arrived at the foundry in the morning there was
hammering going on already in the little room. And when they left in the
evening, the master had not stopped working yet. When the good citizens
of Ringeby went to bed, they would look out of their windows and see his
light still burning.
Peer had had plenty to tire him out even before he began work here. But
in the old days no one had ever asked if he felt strong enough to do
this or that. And he never asked himself. Now, as before, it was a
question of getting something done, at any cost. And never before had
there been so much at stake.
The wooden model of the new machine is finished already, and the
castings put together. The whole thing looks simple enough, and
yet--what a distance from the first rough implement to this thing, which
seems almost to live--a thing with a brain of metal at least. Have not
these wheels and axles had their parents and ancestors--their pedigree
stretching back into the past? The steel has brought forth, and its
descendants again in turn, advancing always toward something finer,
stronger, more efficient. And here is the last stage reached by human
invention in this particular work up to now--yet, after all, is it
good enough? An invention successful enough to bring money in to the
inventor--that is not all.
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