“It’s Venus,” exclaimed Julius under his breath. “She’s in the ascendant too. That’s the luck of the gods, isn’t it?”
I whispered something in reply, wondering dimly what Goldie might think.
“You bang the bath softly for the sound,” said he, “while I hold it up for you. We may hit the right note—the vibrations that fit in with the rate of the light, I mean—though it’s a bit of a chance, I suppose!”
I obeyed, thinking of masters sleeping down below in the silent building.
“Louder!” exclaimed Julius peremptorily.
I obeyed again, with a dismal result resembling tin cans in orgy. And the same minute the good-natured and studious Goldingham awoke with a start and stretched out a hand for his glasses.
“Feel anything unusual, Goldie?” asked LeVallon at once, tremendously in earnest, as he lowered the tin bath.
“Oh, it’s only you!” exclaimed the victim, awakened out of his first sleep and blinking in the gloom, “and you!” he added, catching sight of me, my fist still upraised to beat; “rotten brutes, both of you! You might let a fellow sleep a bit. You know I’m swotting up for an exam.!”
“But do you feel anything, Goldie?” insisted LeVallon, as though it were a matter of life and death. “It was Venus, you know....”