“It ought to,” said Philpot.
“Ought it? Hurrah! I say, Cusack, what a jolly clever beggar old Phil is, isn’t he?”
“Rather,” said the admiring Cusack, perching himself on the side of the table and swinging his legs to pass the time.
“Oh,” said Philpot, condescendingly, “it only wants a little practice.”
“Rather; I mean to practise hard, don’t you, Cusack?”
Cusack said, Yes he did, and proceeded to prowl round the laboratory in a manner that made Philpot very uncomfortable.
It was a relief to all parties when the powders were at last pronounced to be dry.
“Now,” said Philpot, taking up one of the small papers gently on the flat of his hand, “we shall have to be careful.”
“That little lot won’t make half a flare,” suggested Pilbury; “let’s have two or three at once.”
So saying he lifted up one of the other papers and emptied its contents into the paper on Philpot’s hand.