“No,” said Uncle Richard, smiling, but wincing at the same time; “she has had experience of me before in my dabblings in other things. What do you say was the cause of the trouble, Tom?”
“Well, I should say, uncle, that the silver was too strong for the glass, and made it split all to pieces.”
“Not a bad theory,” said Uncle Richard. “What do you say, Maxted?”
“Well,” said the Vicar, “do you know, I’m puzzled. Of course it was not an electric shock, and my knowledge of chemistry is so very shallow; but really and truly, I feel convinced, that you must have got hold of wrong chemicals, and formed some new and dangerous explosive compound.”
“Quite right, only it was not new,” said Uncle Richard. “As soon as I could collect my shattered thinking powers, I began to consider about what I had done, and I think I see correctly now. The fact is, I forgot one very important part of the instructions I have for silvering mirrors.”
“Indeed!” said the Vicar, in an inquiring tone, while Tom pricked up his singing ears.
“Yes,” said Uncle Richard. “You remember how the silvery surface was covered with a greyish powder?”
“Yes, thickly,” said Tom.
“That had no business there, and it would not have been if I had been more careful to remember everything. When I took the speculum glass out of the silvering bath, I ought to have deluged it with pure water till all that greyish powder was washed away, then it would have been fairly bright.”
“Yes, uncle; but what has that to do with the explosion?”