SIR HUMPHREY DAVY.
"What's that? Is the house coming down?" cried Mr. Borlase, the surgeon-apothecary of Penzance, jumping out of his cozy arm-chair, as a tremendous explosion shook the house from top to bottom, making a great jingle among the gallipots in the shop below, and rousing him from a comfortable nap.
"Please, sir," said Betty, the housemaid, putting her head into the room, "here's that boy Davy been a-blowing of hisself up agen. Drat him, he's always up to some trick or other! He'll be the death of all of us some day, that boy will, as sure as my name's Betty."
"Bring him here directly," replied her master, knitting his brow, and screwing his mild countenance into an elaborate imitation of that of a judge he once saw at the assizes, with the black cap on, sentencing some poor wretch to be hanged. "Really, this sort of thing won't do at all."
Only, it must be owned, Mr. Borlase had said that many times before, and put on the terrible judicial look too, and yet "that boy Davy" was at his tricks again as much as ever.
"I'll bring as much as I can find of him, sir," said Betty, gathering up her apron, as if she fully expected to discover the object of her search in a fragmentary condition.
Presently there was heard a shuffling in the passage, and a somewhat ungainly youth, about sixteen years of age, was thrust into the room, with the due complement of legs, arms, and other members, and only somewhat the grimier about the face for the explosion. His fingers were all yellow with acids, and his clothes plentifully variegated with stains from the same compounds. At first sight he looked rather a dull, loutish boy, but his sharp, clear eyes somewhat redeemed his expression on a second glance.
"Here he is, sir," cried Betty triumphantly, as though she really had found him in pieces, and took credit for having put him cleverly together again.
"Well, Humphrey," said Mr. Borlase, "what have you been up to now? You'll never rest, I'm afraid, till you have the house on fire."