Bursting out of the room, he nearly knocked down Martha, who was bursting into it. Instinct, or perhaps sound, took Jan to the surgery, and they all followed in his wake. Bob, the image of terrified consternation, stood in the midst of a débris of glass, his mouth open, and his hair standing-upright. The glass bottles and jars of the establishment had flown from their shelves, causing the unhappy Bob to believe that the world had come to an end.
But what was the débris there, compared to the débris in the next room, Jan's! The window was out, the furniture was split, the various chemical apparatus had been shivered into a hundred pieces, the tamarind jar was in two, and Master Cheese was extended on the floor on his back, his hands scorched, his eyebrows singed off, his face black, and the end of his nose burning.
"Oh! that's it, is it?" said Jan, when his eyes took in the state of things. "I knew it would come to it."
"He have been and blowed hisself up," remarked Bob, who had stolen in after them.
"Is it the gas?" sobbed Miss Amilly, hardly able to speak for terror.
"No, it's not the gas," returned Jan, examining the débris more closely. "It's one of that gentleman's chemical experiments."
Deborah West was bending over the prostrate form in alarm. "He surely can't be dead!" she shivered.
"Not he," said Jan. "Come, get up," he added, taking Master Cheese by the arm to assist him.
He was placed in a chair, and there he sat, coming to, and emitting dismal groans.
"I told you what you'd bring it to, if you persisted in attempting experiments that you know nothing about," was Jan's reprimand, delivered in a sharp tone. "A pretty state of things this is!"