The Gasowashine, I presume, or such combustible fragments as remained, found an inglorious grave next day in the ranges of the same kitchen which had witnessed the start of its short little life.
CHAPTER VII.
Perhaps some of the blame should rest upon the barbaric habit of having Sunday dinner in the middle of the afternoon.
Had it been evening when Hawkins and his better half sat down to dinner with us, it would not, naturally, have been daylight; and much unpleasantness might have been avoided, for the gas had not yet been turned on in the modeled Hawkins residence, and an inspection would have been impossible.
Again, I may have started the trouble myself by bringing up the subject of the renovations.
“Yes, the work's all done,” said Hawkins, with a more genial air than he usually exhibited when that topic was touched. “I tell you, it's a model home now.”
“Particularly in containing no new inventions by its owner,” added Mrs. Hawkins.
“Oh, those may come later,” said the gifted inventor, casting a complacent wink in my direction.