As a pipe he was using a piece of hollow brass curtain rod six or eight inches long and of about the diameter of a fat lead pencil. He soused this thing in the reddish suds and manufactured a bubble with elaborate care. With a graceful gesture of his wet arm he gently waved the rod until the bubble detached itself. It floated in the air for a moment, and the thin, reddish integument caught the light from the electric globe and gave forth a brief answering flash as of fire. Then the bubble suddenly and whimsically dashed itself against the wall and was no more, leaving a faint, damp, reddish trace upon the white plaster. “Air current caught it,” elucidated Tommy with the air of a circus proprietor showing off pet elephants. In his most facetious moments Tommy was wont to hide his childish soul beneath an exterior of serious dignity. “This old dump is full of air currents. They come in round the windows, come in round the doors, come right in through the walls. Damned annoying, too, for a scientist making experiments with bubbles--starts a bubble and never knows which way it's going to jump. I'm gonna complain to the management of this hotel.” “You're going to come out of that bathtub and get into your duds,” said Jack. “That water's getting cool now, and between cold water and air currents you'll have pneumonia the first thing you know--you poor silly fish, you.” “Speaking of fish,” said Tommy elliptically, “there's a bottle of cocktails on the mantel in the room there. Forgot it for a moment. Don't want to be inhospitable, but don't drink all of it.” “It's all gone,” said Dobson a moment later. “So?” said Tommy in surprise. “That's the way with cocktails. Here one minute and gone the next--like bubbles. Bubbles! Life's like that, Jack!” He made another bubble with great solemnity, watched it float and dart and burst. “Pouf!” he said. “Bubbles! Bubbles! Life's like that!” “You're an original philosopher, you are,” said Jack, seizing him by the shoulders. “You're about as original as a valentine. Douse yourself with cold water and rub yourself down and dress. Come out of it, kid, or you'll be sick.” “If I get sick,” said Tommy, obeying, nevertheless, “I won't have to go to work to-morrow.” “Why aren't you working to-day?” asked his friend, working on him with a coarse towel. “Day off,” said Tommy. “Day off!” rejoined Dobson. “Since when has the _Morning Despatch_ been giving two days off a week to its reporters? You had your day off Tuesday, and this is Thursday.”