Watt was then in Cornwall, looking after his
pumping engines; but he saw Boulton, who was usually accessible
to callers of every rank. In answer to Murdock's enquiry whether
he could have a job, Boulton replied that work was very slack
with them, and that every place was filled up. During the brief
conversation that took place, the blate young Scotchman, like
most country lads in the presence of strangers, had some
difficulty in knowing what to do with his hands, and
unconsciously kept twirling his hat with them. Boulton's
attention was attracted to the twirling hat, which seemed to be
of a peculiar make. It was not a felt hat, nor a cloth hat, nor
a glazed hat: but it seemed to be painted, and composed of some
unusual material. "That seems to be a curious sort of hat," said
Boulton, looking at it more closely; "what is it made of?"
"Timmer, sir," said Murdock, modestly. "Timmer? Do you mean to
say that it is made of wood?" "'Deed it is, sir." "And pray how
was it made?" "I made it mysel, sir, in a bit laithey of my own
contrivin'." "Indeed!"
Boulton looked at the young man again. He had risen a hundred
degrees in his estimation. William was a good-looking
fellow--tall, strong, and handsome--with an open intelligent
countenance. Besides, he had been able to turn a hat for himself
with a lathe of his own construction. This, of itself, was a
sufficient proof that he was a mechanic of no mean skill.
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