“All serene,” said Philpot, who had now quite recovered his humour, and was pleased to find himself in the position of an instructor of youth, “wait a bit, then.”
He reached down from a shelf a large saucer containing water, in which lay a round substance rather like the end of a stick of peppermint-rock. On this Philpot began to operate with a pair of scissors, greatly to the amusement of his spectators, for try all he would he couldn’t get hold of it.
“What are you trying to do?” said Cusack.
“Cut a bit off,” said Philpot, trying to stick the substance with a long bodkin, in order to hold it steady.
“Why, that’s not the way to cut it, you old dolt,” said Pilbury. “Here, I’ll do it,” and he advanced to the saucer.
“What’ll you do?”
“Why, fish it out, of course, and cut it then.”
“You’d better not try. It’s phosphorus.”
“Is it, though—and what does it do?”
“Burn you, rather, unless you keep it in water. Ah, got him at last.”