In doing so, he had to clamber up the immense heap of bricks and rubbish which now littered the floor, amounting almost to a car-load, and reaching up nearly to the top of the chimney-piece. It plucked shingles from the school building, threatening to shake them all loose one by one like rotting teeth. While he was straining every sinew, his foot slipped, and he fell, head foremost, into a deep trench, which he had not observed in the dark. It’s a sort of home-leaving instinct. Martin came to the door, looking radiant and relieved. Tea in the laboratory was a sort of suffragette reception. The vast heap of rubbish on the floor had been so materially increased by the bricks and plaster thrown down in his attack upon the wall of the Red Room, that it was with some difficulty he could find the blanket which was almost buried beneath the pile. “I think that’s the right name. It'll be your turn to save mine next.
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