"
Mr. Drill sat bolt upright and looked very wise.
He took the smashed helmet from the table and examined it carefully. It
was broken in at least half-a-dozen places, and he laboured in vain to
push it into shape. He might as well have tried to make a silk hat out
of a concertina. The only thing that had escaped injury was the metal
plate with the number.
"Why don't you mend it?" he inquired, at last.
"Mend it?" shouted the incensed Mr. Jenkins. "Why don't you?"
"I think I could," said Mr. Drill, slowly; "give me half an hour in the
kitchen and I'll try."
"Have as long as you like," said Mr. Gunnill.
"And I shall want some glue, and Miss Gunnill, and some tin-tacks," said
Drill.
"What do you want me for?" inquired Selina.
"To hold the things for me," replied Mr. Drill.
Miss Gunnill tossed her head, but after a little demur consented; and
Drill, ignoring the impatience of the constable, picked up his bag and
led the way into the kitchen. Messrs. Gunnill and Jenkins, left behind
in the living-room, sought for some neutral topic of discourse, but in
vain; conversation would revolve round hard labour and lost pensions.
From the kitchen came sounds of hammering, then a loud "Ooh!" from Miss
Gunnill, followed by a burst of laughter and a clapping of hands.
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