“It could try,” I said meekly.
“Then listen. You remember those dots on the frieze all through the house? You do? All right. Just close your eyes and conceive a little metal tube running back into the wall. Imagine the little tube opening into a large supply pipe in the wall.
“Is that clear? Then conceive that the supply pipe in each room connects with a supply pipe in the rear of the house, and that the big pipe terminates—or rather begins—in a big tank on the top floor!”
“But what on earth is it all?”
“It's the Hawkins Chemico-Sprinkler System!” announced the inventor.
“For the Lord's sake!” I gasped.
“Yes, sir! It's something like the sprinkling system you see in factories, but all concealed—perfectly adapted to private house purposes! Every one of those dots is simply a little hole in the wall through which, in case of fire, will flow quart after quart of my chemical fire-extinguisher? How's that?”
“Er—is the tank full?” I asked, gliding hurriedly away from the wall.
“Of course it is. Oh, sit where you were, Griggs, don't drag in that asinine clownishness of yours. Or, better still, come up with me and see the business end of the thing—the tank and all that.”
“The stuff isn't inflammable, is it? We're smoking, you know.”