t heavily and splashed the white iron
sparks hither and thither. Even as they looked, a truckful of fuel
was shot into one of the giants, and the red flames gleamed out,
and a confusion of smoke and black dust came boiling upwards
towards the sky.

"Certainly you get some fine effects of colour with your
furnaces," said Raut, breaking a silence that had become
apprehensive.

Horrocks grunted. He stood with his hands in his pockets,
frowning down at the dim steaming railway and the busy ironworks
beyond, frowning as if he were thinking out some knotty problem.

Raut glanced at him and away again. "At present your
moonlight effect is hardly ripe," he continued, looking upward.
"The moon is still smothered by the vestiges of daylight."

Horrocks stared at him with the expression of a man who has
suddenly awakened. "Vestiges of daylight? . . . . Of course, of
course." He too looked up at the moon, pale still in the midsummer
sky. "Come along," he said suddenly, and, gripping Raut's arm in
his hand, made a move towards the path that dropped from them to
the railway.

Raut hung back. Their eyes met and saw a thousand things in
a moment that their eyes came near to say. Horrocks' hand
tightened and then relaxed. He let go, and before Raut was aware
of it, they were arm in arm, and walking, one unwillingly enough,
down the path.

"You see the fine effect of the railway signals towards
Burslem," said Horrocks, suddenly breaking into loquacity, striding
fast, and tightening the grip of his elbow the while. "Little
green lights and red and white lights, all against the haze. You
have an eye for effect, Raut. It's a fine effect. And look at
those furnaces of mine, how they rise upon us as we come down the
hill. That to the right is my pet--seventy feet of him. I packed
him myself, and he's boiled away cheerfully with iron in his guts
for five long years. I've a particular fancy for _him_. That
line of red there--a lovely bit of warm orange you'd call it,
Raut--that's the puddlers' furnaces, and there, in the hot light,
three black figures--did you see the white splash of the
steam-hammer then?--that's the rolling mills. Come along!
Clang, clatter, how it goes rattling across the floor! Sheet tin,
Raut,--amazing stuff. Glass mirrors are not in it when that stuff
comes from the mill. And, squelch!--there goes the hammer again.
Come along!"

He had to stop talking to catch at his breath. His arm
twis