o reproduce this extraordinary Caledonian
expletive in writing, but that is as near to it as I can get.) Then he
continued urbanely--

"Then you would organise a service of fast turbine steamers running all
over the canal systems of the country?"

"Exactly. Or let us say--er--launches," said Dubberley. "I must not
overstate my case."

"Travelling twenty miles an hour?"

"Say fifteen, sir," said Dubberley magnanimously.

"Mr Dubberley," said Robin, in a voice which made us all jump, "have you
a bathroom in your house?"

Even the Twins, who were growing a trifle lethargic under the
technicalities of the subject, roused themselves at this fresh turn of
the conversation.

"Ah--eh--I beg your pardon?" said Dubberley, a trifle disconcerted.

"A bathroom," repeated Robin--"with a good long bath in it?"

"Er--yes."

"Well, Mr Dubberley, when you go home this afternoon, go upstairs and
fill the bath with water. Then take a large bath-sponge--something
nearly as broad as the bath--and sweep it along from end to end, about a
foot below the surface, at a speed of fifteen miles per hour--that will
be twenty-two feet per second--and see what happens!"

Robin had unconsciously dropped into what I may call his
debating-society manner. His chin stuck out, and his large chest heaved,
and he scooped the air, as if it had been the water of Dubberley's bath,
with one of Kitty's priceless Worcester teacups.

Dubberley sat completely demoralised, palpitating like a stranded frog.

"Then," continued Robin, "you would observe the result of placing a
partly submerged and rapidly moving body in a shallow and restricted
waterway. You would kick half the water right out of the canal to begin
with, and the other half would pile itself up into a wave under your bow
big enough to offer an almost immovable resistance to the progress of
your vessel."

He leaned back and surveyed the bemused Dubberley with complete and
obvious satisfaction. We all sat round breathless, feeling much as
Sidney Smith must have felt when some one spoke disrespectfully of the
Equator. Great was the fall of Dubberley. He moved, perhaps
instinctively, in a society where he was seldom contradicted and never
argued with. One does not argue with a gramophone. And here this raw
Scottish youth, with the awful thoroughness and relentless common-sense
of his race, had taken the very words out of his mouth, torn them to
shreds, and thrust them down his throat.

I am