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"
They'll have to build his piano in here," he said. "Bring it in in
pieces."
He hovered about amidst his preparations, a pensive, dark, little
figure. If you could have seen him there he would have looked to you
like a ten-inch man amidst common nursery things. A great rug--indeed it
was a Turkey carpet--four hundred square feet of it, upon which young
Redwood was soon to crawl--stretched to the grill-guarded electric
radiator that was to warm the whole place. A man from Cossar's hung
amidst scaffolding overhead, fixing the great frame that was to hold the
transitory pictures. A blotting-paper book for plant specimens as big as
a house door leant against the wall, and from it projected a gigantic
stalk, a leaf edge or so and one flower of chickweed, all of that
gigantic size that was soon to make Urshot famous throughout the
botanical world ...
A sort of incredulity came to Redwood as he stood among these things.
"If it really is going on--" said Redwood, staring up at the remote
ceiling.
From far away came a sound like the bellowing of a Mafficking bull,
almost as if in answer.
"
It's going on all right," said Redwood. "Evidently."
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