“What a curious gurgling the water makes!” said Uncle Bob as we sat listening; “anyone might think that half a dozen bottles were being poured out at once.”
“The water plays in and out of the crevices amongst the stones, driving the air forth. I’ve often listened to it and thought it was someone whispering out there beneath the windows,” said Uncle Dick.
Then came a loud gust of wind that shook the windows, and directly after there was the strong sour scent of naphtha.
“They must have had an accident—upset a tank or something of the kind,” said Uncle Jack. “How strong it is!”
“Yes; quite stinging. It comes each time with the puffs of wind. I suppose,” continued Uncle Dick, “you would consider that which we smell to be a gas.”
“Certainly,” said Uncle Bob, who was, we considered, a pretty good chemist. “It is the evaporation of the spirit; it is so volatile that it turns of itself into vapour or gas and it makes itself evident to our nostrils as it is borne upon the air.”
“There must be great loss in the manufacture of such a spirit as that.”
“Oh, they charge accordingly!” said Uncle Bob; “but a great deal does undoubtedly pass off into—”
He stopped short, for Uncle Jack laid his hand upon his knee and we all listened.
“Nothing,” said the latter; but I felt sure I heard a noise below.