central figure in a good farce and let all this other stuff slide. And

then, perhaps, I would catch on again for a bit.

At the earliest opportunity I went to see his house. It was large and

carelessly furnished; there were no servants other than his three

assistants, and his dietary and private life were characterised by a

philosophical simplicity. He was a water-drinker, a vegetarian, and all

those logical disciplinary things. But the sight of his equipment settled

many doubts. It looked like business from cellar to attic--an amazing

little place to find in an out-of-the-way village. The ground-floor rooms

contained benches and apparatus, the bakehouse and scullery boiler had

developed into respectable furnaces, dynamos occupied the cellar, and

there was a gasometer in the garden. He showed it to me with all the

confiding zest of a man who has been living too much alone. His seclusion

was overflowing now in an excess of confidence, and I had the good luck to

be the recipient.

The three assistants were creditable specimens of the class of "handy-men"

from which they came. Conscientious if unintelligent, strong, civil, and

willing. One, Spargus, who did the cooking and all the metal work, had

been a sailor; a second, Gibbs, was a joiner; and the third was an

ex-jobbing gardener, and now general assistant. They were the merest

labourers. All the intelligent work was done by Cavor. Theirs was the

darkest ignorance compared even with my muddled impression.

And now, as to the nature of these inquiries. Here, unhappily, comes a

The First Men In The Moon