"Hanged if I don’t experiment on my own account!" he thought. He filled the tray with water from the pump in Mrs. Pouncey’s garden, laid it on an iron tripod which he found in the shed, and obtaining some firewood and coke from Mrs. Pouncey, kindled a small fire in an iron brazier. This he put underneath the tray, hanging the thermometer from the tripod. In a few minutes a sizzling informed him that water was trickling through the holes, and lifting the thermometer, he discovered that it registered 76°. "By George! What a rag!" he exclaimed. "I wonder if it can be done! Mustn’t tell Bob, though!" He put out the fire, emptied the brazier and the tray, replugged the holes and removed all traces of his experiment. Then he walked into the town, and made his way to the Literary Institute. "Good morning, Mr. Johnson," he said to the builder, whom he found reading a newspaper in the large hall, and smiling broadly. "You’ve got all ready for to-night, I see. How many will the place hold?" "Two hundred and fifty, or thereabouts," said the builder. "That’s about the whole able-bodied population of Pudlington, isn’t it?" "Why no, sir, not with the women folk. They’ve got votes now-a-days, and there be more women voters than men, seemingly. Have ’ee seen the _Echo_, sir?" "Your local rag? Anything in it?" "A rare bit o’ news that you won’t see every week. Look ’ee here." He handed the _Pudlington Echo_ to Eves, pointing to a paragraph headed with large type. "MISTAKEN FOR A BURGLAR "AMAZING EXPERIENCE OF THE MAYOR