“No, only through the first week. The second it is a little less and the third still less.”
“There is the luncheon-bell, dear; we must go down or the children will be trooping up here. I hope, my boy, that you will succeed.”
“If I don’t I shall try again,” said August. Then, taking a final look to see that the thermometer and lamp were all right, he locked the room and they went down.
He paid several visits to the attic during the day and evening, finding on each occasion that all worked well and steadily. Before going to bed he refilled the lamp, so the supply of naptha shouldn’t be exhausted; then he went to sleep and dreamed all night of eggs and chickens.
In the morning he was up and at his incubator before any one else was stirring. The thermometer indicated that the eggs were a trifle cool, so he turned up the wick of the lamp. Before going to church he turned the eggs. This he did twice daily, being careful not to jar them. The incubator worked well all day and all night.
The next day was Monday and he had his school duties to attend to. He left everything in good order, took the attic key to his mother, and went off to school full of confidence.
Alas! When mamma went up at ten o’clock, she could scarcely see across the room. Everything was black with soot. The naptha lamp was smoking fiercely.
The first thing was to get the window open, and put out the lamp. Then mamma looked at the eggs. Alas, again! There they lay covered with fine black soot. She took up one and tried to wipe it, but succeeded only in making a smirch which she could not wipe off. She knew then that the eggs were spoiled.
In the midst of it all August came in from school having been dismissed early. Poor August! He could scarcely keep the tears back.
“Well, August,” said his mamma very practically, “I don’t think a naptha lamp just the thing. They are very apt to smoke, and they are very inflammable.”