"But if the water were warm?"

"Well, the water ain't warm, so it's no good speculating."

"Dear me," said Septimus. "Now that's just what I enjoy doing."

Wiggleswick grunted. "I'll turn on the tap and leave it."

The door having closed behind his body servant, Septimus laid his ivory
rule on the portion of the complicated diagram of machinery which he had
been measuring off, and soon became absorbed in his task. It was four
o'clock in the afternoon. He had but lately risen, and sat in pyjamas and
dressing-gown over his drawing. A bundle of proofs and a jam-pot containing
a dissipated looking rosebud lay on that space of the table not occupied by
the double-elephant sheet of paper. By his side was a manuscript covered
with calculations to which he referred or added from time to time. A bleak
November light came in through the window, and Septimus's chair was on the
right-hand side of the table. It was characteristic of him to sit
unnecessarily in his own light.

Presently a more than normal darkening of the room caused him to look at
the window. Clem Sypher stood outside, gazing at him with amused curiosity.
Hospitably, Septimus rose and flung the casement window open.

"Do come in."

As the aperture was two feet square, all of Clem Sypher that could respond
to the invitation was his head and shoulders.

"Is it good morning, good afternoon, or good night?" he asked, surveying