ir
hearts' content, Philpot ordered them to desist and let it stand a bit.

This they consented to do, and occupied the interval in taking down and
smelling all the bottles within reach, with a hardihood that frightened
the wits out of poor Philpot.

"Look here," he said, when presently Pilbury suddenly dropped one bottle
with a crash to the floor, and began violently spitting and choking,
"you promised you wouldn't touch anything, and I'll shut up if you go on
fooling any more. Serves you right, Pil, so it does."

It was some time before the unfortunate Pil recovered from the results
of his unlucky experiment, and even when he did, the odours from the
broken bottle were so offensive that the windows had to be opened wide
before the atmosphere of the room became tolerable. It wouldn't have
taken so long, only it was deemed advisable to shut the door at the same
time to prevent the smell getting outside and telling tales to the
school at large.

By the time this pleasant diversion was disposed of the concoction in
the saucer had recovered from its stirring, and Philpot declared it was
ready to go ahead with.

He therefore placed another saucer upside down upon this one, and
carefully strained off between the two all the liquid, leaving only a
black powder in the saucer, which he announced was iodide of nitrogen.

"Jolly rum name," said Cusack, "what does it do?"

"You wait a bit," said Philpot, scooping the wet powder up with the end
of a knife and spreading it out on small separate pieces of paper.

"Fellow's born a chemist," said Pilbury, watching him admiringly;
"that's just what old Joram does at the dispensary. What's all the
spread out for?"

"To dry it," said Philpot.

"Why don't you stick it on the shovel and hold it over the gas?"
suggested Cusack. "Jolly fag waiting till it dries itself."

"Oh, it won't be long," said Philpot.

"And what's it going to do when it's done?" asked Cusack.

"Hope it'll flare-up like the other," said Pilbury.

"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 mad