There was a second and a third yell, and as I hurried downstairs Mr. Bowser stood in the middle of the cellar, hands out-stretched and jumping up and down as if he had fire under his feet.
"For heaven's sake, what is it, Mr. Bowser?" I asked.
"Whitewash—lime—fire!"
"Where?"
"In my eyes! I'm blind! I've burned them out!"
I got hold of him and led him out to the laundry tubs and set the water to running. He had indeed got a dose in his eyes, but it was more painful than dangerous. He could hardly see daylight after we had washed out all the lime, and as I led him upstairs he said:
"I shall never see again!"
I washed his eyes with milk and got him to lie down on the lounge, and in a couple of hours he was pretty near all right. His eyes were sore, but no great damage had been done. He was very gentle until he discovered this. Then he suddenly turned on me with:
"Mrs. Bowser, what possible excuse can you urge in extenuation of your conduct?"
"What do you mean?"