“Ah, Jeff, Jeff,” sighed my mother, with a shake of her head, “you’ll never leave off till you get blown up. But I suppose you must have your way. You always had, dear boy.”

“But never in opposition to your wishes, had I? Now be just, mother.”

“Quite true, Jeff, quite true. How comes it, I wonder, that you are so fond of fire, smoke, fumes, crash, clatter, and explosions?”

“Really,” said I, somewhat amused by the question, “I cannot tell, unless it be owing to something in that law of compensation which appears to permeate the universe. You have such an abhorrence of fire, fumes, smoke, crash, clatter, and explosions, that your only son is bound, as it were, to take special delight in chemical analysis and combination, to say nothing of mechanical force and contrivance, in order that a balance of some sort may be adjusted which would otherwise be thrown out of order by your—pardon me—comparative ignorance of, and indifference to such matters.”

“Nay, Jeff,” replied my mother, gently, with a look of reproof on her kind face; “ignorance if you will, but not indifference. I cannot be indifferent to anything that interests you.”

“True; forgive me; I should have said ‘dislike.’”

“Yes, that would have been correct, Jeff, for I cannot pretend to like the bursting, smoking, and ill-smelling things you are so fond of; but you know I am interested in them. You cannot have forgotten how, when you were a boy, I used to run at your call to witness your pyrotechnic, hydraulic, mechanic, and chemic displays—you see how well I remember the names—and how the—”

“The acids,” I interrupted, taking up the theme, “ruined your carpets and table-cloths, and the smoke stifled and blinded, while the noise and flames terrified you; no, mother, I have not forgotten it, nor the patient way you took the loss of your old silk dress, or—”

“Ah! yes,” sighed the dear old lady, with quite a pitiful look, “if it had been any other than my wedding dress, which—but—well, it’s of no use regretting now; and you know, Jeff, I would not have checked you for worlds, because I knew you were being led in the right way, though, in my folly, I sometimes wished that the way had been a little further removed from smoke and smells. But, after all, you were very careful, dear boy—wonderfully so, for your years, and your little accidents did not give me much pain beyond the day of their occurrence. The poisoning of the cat, to 

 Prev. P 8/204 next