"Dear me!" cried the Imp, his face flushing to a deep crimson. "Dear me, I got the wrong button. That's my Music-room button. It's right next the Dictionary button, and my finger must have slipped. I'll just turn 'Annie Rooney' off and try again. Now listen."
Again the Imp touched a button, and Jimmieboy once more heard the buzzing sound, followed by a squeaking voice, which said:
"Battery is a noun—plural, batteries. In baseball the pitcher and catcher is the battery; in electricity a battery is a number of Leyden jars, usually arranged with their inner coatings connected, and their outer coatings also connected, so that they may be all charged and discharged at the same time."
"Understand that, Jimmieboy?" queried the Imp, with a smile, turning the Dictionary button off.
"No, I don't," said Jimmieboy. "But I suppose it is all right."
"Perhaps you'd like an explanation of the explanation?" suggested the Imp.
"If it's one I can understand, I would," returned Jimmieboy. "But I don't see the use of explanations that don't explain."
"They aren't much good," observed the Imp, touching another button. "This will make it clear, I think."
"The Dictionary doesn't say it," said another squeaking voice, in response to the touch of the Imp on the third button; "but a battery is a thing that looks like a row of jars full of preserves, but isn't, and when properly cared for and not allowed to freeze up, it makes electricity, which is a sort of red-hot invisible fluid that pricks your hands when you touch it, and makes them feel as if they were asleep if you keep hold of it for any length of time, and which carries messages over wires, makes horse-cars go without horses, lights a room better than gas, and is so like lightning that no man who has tried both can tell the difference between them."
Here the squeaking voice turned into a buzz again, and then stopped altogether.