"
"Kidnapping can't hurt him. It's what he needs. And, anyway, if
he is I'll pay the bill and be glad to do it. Take him off to bed
now. To-morrow you can start looking up schools. Great Godfrey!"
He hopped to the writing-desk and glared disgustedly at the
_debris_ on it. "Who's been making this mess on my desk? It's hard!
It's darned hard! The only room in the house that I ask to have
for my own, where I can get a little peace, and I find it turned
into a beer-garden, and coffee or some damned thing spilled all
over my writing-desk!"
"That isn't coffee, Peter," said Mrs. Pett mildly. This cave-man
whom she had married under the impression that he was a gentle
domestic pet had taken all the spirit out of her. "It's Willie's
explosive."
"Willie's explosive?"
"Lord Wisbeach--I mean the man who pretended to be Lord
Wisbeach--dropped it there."
"Dropped it there? Well, why didn't it explode and blow the place
to Hoboken, then?"
Mrs. Pett looked helplessly at Willie, who thrust his fingers
into his mop of hair and rolled his eyes.
"There was fortunately some slight miscalculation in my formula,
uncle Peter," he said. "I shall have to look into it to-morrow.
Whether the trinitrotoluol--"
Mr. Pett uttered a sharp howl. He beat the air with his clenched
fists. He seemed to be having a brain-storm.
"Has this--this _fish_ been living on me all this time--have I been
supporting this--this _buzzard_ in luxury all these years while he
fooled about with an explosive that won't explode! He pointed an
accusing finger at the inventor.
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