this first, sing to it and give names to the notes," said Redwood, "and afterwards--?"
He stared up at the window-sill overhead and measured the size of the room with his eye.
"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."
There followed resounding blows upon
