“Oh, didn’t you order it?" asked Ida,
“I! No; why should I?" He rang the bell. “Why have you not laid the breakfast, Jane?"
“If you please, sir, Miss Ida was a workin’ at the table."
“Oh, of course, Jane,” said the young lady calmly. “I am so sorry. I shall be ready to move in a few minutes.”
“But what on earth are you doing, Ida?” asked the Doctor, “The smell is most offensive. And, good gracious, look at the mess which you have made upon the cloth! Why, you have burned a hole right through."
“Oh, that is the acid,” Ida answered contentedly. “Mrs Westmacott said that it would burn holes.”
“You might have taken her word for it without trying,” said her father dryly.
“But look here, pa! See what the book says: 'The scientific mind takes nothing upon trust. Prove all things!' I have proved that.”
“You certainly have. Well, until breakfast is ready I'll glance over the Times. Have you seen it?”
“The Times? Oh, dear me, this is it which I have under my spirit-lamp. I am afraid there is some acid upon that too, and it is rather damp and torn. Here it is.”
The Doctor took the bedraggled paper with a rueful face. “Everything seems to be wrong
