The New Design

Prototype Number Three was thoroughly, unapologetically devoid of charm.

Ernest considered that its crowning virtue.

Arthur Pendelton, who had walked over from corporate administration in his best dove-gray frock coat, considered it an aesthetic disaster of national proportions.

The dispute opened at fourteen minutes past nine on Tuesday morning within the cavernous, white-washed drafting annex of the newly minted Teucher Motor Company. Sunlight poured through the tall monitor roof, glinting off drafting squares, rows of steel flat files, and the full-scale pine-and-ash mock-up parked dead in the center of the bay.

Arthur stood three paces back, his arms crossed over his chest, his mouth drawn into a grim line of disapproval. "It is an unmitigated shipping crate, Ernest. If you paint a consignment number on the door, the Great Northern Railway will load it into a goods van."