The gentleman addressed—a morose, unclean, and spectacled youth of scientific proclivities—was the latest recruit to the gang. He had been admitted at the instance of Master Nixon, who had pointed out that it would be a good thing to enrol as a member some one who understood "Chemistry and Stinks generally." He could be used for the manufacture of bombs, and so on.
Stinker had produced from his pocket a corked test-tube, tightly packed with some dark substance.
"What's that?" inquired the Anarchists in chorus. (They nearly always talked in chorus.)
"It's a new kind of explosive," replied the inventor with great pride.
"I hope it's better than that new kind of stinkpot you invented for choir-practice," remarked a cynic from the corner of the study.
"That was a rotten fraud, if you like! It smelt more like lily-of-the-valley than any decent stink."
"Dry up, Ashley minor!" rejoined the inventor indignantly. "This is a jolly good bomb. I made it to-day in the Lab, while The Badger was trying to put out a bonfire at the other end."
"Where does the patent come in?" inquired the President judicially.
"The patent is that it doesn't go off all at once."
"We know that!" observed the unbelieving Ashley.