"Before we get started, I thought we might take a bite..." he said, directing me across the hallway.
Upon entering the kitchen I saw, immediately, the device, dominating, as it was, a sound third of the table.
A long, threaded rod, over two feet in height proclaimed its presence, emanating from
a metallic box at its base, and punctuated at its pinnacle with some protuberant mass to one side. Opposite this on the base was a squat cylindrical assembly, perhaps three inches in height and diameter.
"Sit down, sit down" he said, gesturing towards it, as he ambled towards the other side of the room.
I sat in the proffered chair, facing it. The threaded rod, I now perceived, was of a gradually increasing thread gauge, its surface iridescent in the faint flickerings of the gaslight. At the top, an encapsulating collar held, suspended by an arm, some kind of bulky metal container in the fashion of a tall, yet gross, thick-walled cup. The other component, on the right, resembled a bobbin, mounted vertically, with a dark, narrow slot in it, about half way up. Slightly in front of both, on the top of the base, aligned underneath the cup, was undoubtedly a small place setting. On the right was a small spoon, to the left a neatly folded napkin and to the rear a small dish.
"Well, I think they are not overdone" he murmured, and taking a spoon, fished an egg from a pan, blew it to dry off the water, and carefully rolled it onto a small plate. "Here, I suppose you take them soft-boiled ?"
"This is just a little tinkering I've been up to, you know, a few components borrowed from one or two of my other projects". At my stare, he laughed "no no - nothing with atomics - not since...". He coughed. "It's purely mechanical, I promise. Please, just place the egg in the cup, and you'll see".
Taking the plate, I stood, allowing me to see into the receptacle, which I felt was rather deeper than the usual. Still, I reflected, he was not one to be bothered by the vagaries of fashion. In the bottom, I could also see a protruding button or ring - perhaps a stabilising or suspension mechanism ? Bringing the plate up to the cup, I gingerly took the egg and dropped it in, blowing the heat from my fingertips afterward.
After a moment, looking over my shoulder, he proclaimed "My dear boy! Were you never taught that your eggs should be served narrow end down? Try again. You may need to press it down a little - a prototype of course - by the way, I'm sure you know, but best to keep any loose members clear once it starts".
Flushing slightly I put down the plate, and after buttoning my jacket across my tie and putting my left hand in my pocket, I poised my right hand by the egg, taking a moment's preparation. Decisively then, I took the egg, twisted it over and placed it firmly into the recess, feeling the click as it engaged the button, before raising my arm fully away and taking a step backwards.
This time the cup began to drop gently down, at a ceremonious pace, with the threaded rod spinning. "The lubricant was a different project - one of my most successful" he beamed "based on a suspension of laboriously-prepared graphite...". "Yes, of course" I interrupted, sparing myself the incomprehensible details for the umpteenth time.
Somewhat deflated, I faced my host with a bemused expression, and opined with a hint of irony "Very elegant. It puts me in mind of those cranked fruit-peelers". "Why yes" he answered, eyes widening for a moment, "some similarity, but really not quite so delicate, as you see". "But" I pursued, "your eggs are surely not so fragile as to deserve such gentle presentation ?". "Indeed they are not" he smiled in response "it has taken significant empirical data to arrive at the minimal parameters - my hens are far from consistent".
Turning back, none the wiser, the cup, and my rapidly-cooling egg was by this time approaching the half-way mark, and I became aware of a faint whining note. I listened, frowning, convinced that the tone was gradually increasing in pitch. A badly adjusted bearing perhaps ? Which would be suprising, given his, at times debilitating, perfectionism. "Still, at his age" I reasoned "he probably can't even hear it" and I put it out of mind.
When the egg neared the base, anticipating delivery finally, I reached to take the napkin. "Careful! Ahm, perhaps..." he started. Pursing my lips, I withdrew my fingers.
At the last, the cup and encumbant egg were indelicately dropped for the last one-eighth inch. No sooner than my eyebrows had reached my forehead at this, there was a noise which I can only describe as a "CRR-CHUCK", the squat bobbin span in an instant, and with a glint as from a finely honed edge, the top of my egg appeared rotating slowly in the small dish.
I staggered back into the chair. The whining had ceased.
"Excellent! Bon appetite" he grinned.
Once breathing slower again, as the full implications fell into place, I nodded, recovering my composure, as a smile crept across my face.
"No soldiers ?" I asked, unfolding the napkin.