"No, I guess that's all right. It was the aluminum container that went
up, and that's so light it didn't do much damage. But we'd better wait
until some of those fumes escape. They're not healthy to breathe."

The cloud of yellowish smoke was slowly rolling away, and the man and
lad were approaching the shop, which, in spite of the explosion that
had taken place in it, was still intact, when an aged man, coming from
a handsome house not far off, called out, "Tom, is anyone hurt?"

"No, dad. We're all right."

"What happened?"

"Well, we had another explosion. We can't seem to get the right
mixture of the gas, but I think we've had the last of our bad luck.
We're going to try it again. Up to now the gas has been too strong,
the tank too weak, or else our valve control is bad."

"Oh dear, Mr. Swift! Do tell them to be careful!" a woman's voice
chimed in. "I'm sure something dreadful will happen! This is about the
tenth time something has blown up around here, and-"

"It's only the ninth, Mrs. Baggert," interrupted Tom, somewhat
indignantly.

"Well, goodness me! Isn't nine almost as bad as ten? There I was, just
putting my bread in the oven," went on Mrs. Baggert, the housekeeper,
"and I was so startled that I dropped it, and now the dough is all
over the kitchen floor. I never saw such a mess."