The inventor, Mr. Blodgett, and myself were left together in the drawing-room.
That amiable old gentleman's coat—he is bitterly averse to undue expenditure for clothes—had turned to a pale, rotting green.
“Well, it's a good thing that was diluted acid instead of strong, isn't it, Griggs?” remarked Hawkins. “Originally I had intended using the strong acid, you know, for the reason——”
“Aaaah!” cried Mr. Blodgett. “So that was more of your imbecile inventing, was it? Fire-extinguisher! Bah! I thought nobody but you could have conceived the idea like that! What under the sun did you let off your infernal contrivance for?”
“Oh, I just did it to spite you, papa,” said Hawkins, with weary sarcasm.
“By George, sir, I believe you did!” snapped the old gentleman. “It's like you! Look at my coat, sir! Look at——”
I was edging away when Mrs. Hawkins entered. She was clad in somber black now, and her cheeks flamed scarlet with mortification.
“Well!” she exclaimed.
“Well, my dear?” said Hawkins, bracing himself.
“A pretty mess you've made of our house-warming, haven't you? You and your idiotic fire-extinguisher!”