THE BULBARIUM 215 



(during which I successfully resisted the tempta- 

 tion to touch his mother's hip-bath), and re- 

 turned laden with the two sacks that I had 

 already noticed in the study. 



" I've brought a book of the rules, too," he 

 remarked, " so that we shan't do anything 

 silly." 



" Speak for yourself," I said; " person- 

 ally " 



" Look out !" My sentence was never com- 

 pleted. " Stand clear of the gates !" he shouted, 

 as with a vigorous heave he emptied the contents 

 of the sacks into the bath. 



For a few moments the atmosphere was filled 

 with thick yellow dust; my eyes and lungs were 

 choked with grit, and I could only splutter 

 painfully in my attempts to recover breath. 



" Sneeze into the bath !" said George, who 

 hated waste of any kind; " not on the linoleum ! 

 Now then, look alive," he added peremptorily. 

 " We must do this thing properly. You roll 

 up your sleeves and churn the fibre and the 

 shell together, while I keep the mixture damp 

 with water from the can." 



I tried in vain to point out that this was a 

 grossly unfair division of labour; my cousin was 

 adamant, and with a heavy heart I set to 

 work. 



" I say, just look at my nails !" I exclaimed 



