"My dear chap, you'll get over that; the first one I saw go knocked me all in a heap."
Carstairs appreciated Darwen's sympathetic lying, but it cut him more than all. "Don't give me silly lies, for God's sake," he said, letting his temper get the better of him. "I have found out that I am a skunk with no nerve, not a ha'porth, so I drop behind, into my place, the place of the cur. And the bottom is knocked out of my universe." He puffed vigorously at his pipe, blowing great clouds of smoke.
Darwen was silent, too, for some time, then he spoke slowly, thoughtfully, punctuating his remarks by blowing softly at the wreaths of smoke about him. "I must say (puff), honestly (puff), I was never more surprised in my life (puff). You're such a deliberate, cool sort of chap (puff). Thought earthquakes wouldn't upset you."
"Damn it! I thought so too."
Darwen proceeded: "Surely must be something abnormal (puff). I mean to say, a fuse going is startling, and all that—but (puff), damn it! (puff) you haven't got over that shock, you know, that's what it is." He sat upright with a sudden vigour and a light in his expressive eyes. "That's it, man. You want to go slow for a bit. Dash it! two thousand volts, that usually 'corpses' a chap, you know."
Carstairs brightened somewhat. "Yes," he said, "I'm convinced that's it, too, but how long will it take to get over it? If ever?" He stood up excitedly; it was obvious he was not himself even then. His hand was unsteady as he held his pipe outwards, pointing with the stem at Darwen. "That shock was devilish, Darwen. A nightmare. Devilish. I could feel you chaps working at me, for hours it seemed to me, working so damn slowly. And I wanted to tell you to get on, to keep it up, to go faster, and I couldn't, couldn't budge, couldn't get out a word. Did I sweat? You didn't notice if I sweated. Think I must have. There was a sensation of something fluttering round me, something like a damn great moth in the dark. I could hear it, and I was frightened of the thing, frightened as hell. I wanted to put my arm up to shield my eyes, to beat the thing off, to lash out in sheer terror, and I couldn't budge. God! It was awful! I had no idea terror was so really terrible. Wonder what the moth thing was?"
Darwen looked at him steadily with bright eyes, a world of sympathy in them, sympathy and interest. "Your face was very drawn, I noticed that. You looked terror-stricken."
"I was. And when that fuse went to-night, the bang and the flash and roar brought it all back. I lost control of myself. I wanted to be steady, but I couldn't, I shook like a leaf; you saw it, and Thompson saw it. You'd hardly believe how angry I was, how I was cursing myself." He broke off suddenly and shook his clenched fist in the air. "Curse that blasted silly Smith and his blasted monkey tricks." It was almost a scream.
"Sit down, old chap. You want a rest, that's what it is—shock to the system and that sort of thing, you know. I'll go round with you in the morning and see a doctor."
Carstairs sat down, he seemed almost himself again; calm, discerning, calculating. "Can't do that! What am I to say? Sure to get old Smith into a row. These bally doctors and councillors they're all mixed up, you know, sure to get round."