“Why, suppose the infernal thing has burned down to the fuse!” cried Hawkins hoarsely. “Suppose it melts through the wire and sends down that top!” “Will it start the stuff running?” “Start it! Of course it'll start it. Gee whizz! I'm going up there now, Griggs!” Hawkins made for the stairs. I smiled after him, for he seemed rather worked up. I turned back to the dancers. It was a pretty scene. To the rhythm of a particularly seductive waltz, the guests were gliding about the floor. I noted the gay colors of the ladies' gowns, the flowers, the sparkling diamonds. And then--then I noted the frieze! My eyes seemed instinctively to travel to that stretch of ugliness--they fastened upon the dots with a kind of fascination. And none too soon. From one of the dots spurted forth what looked like a tiny stream of water. Another followed and another and yet another. The whole multitude of dots were raining liquid upon the dancers from all sides of the room! The streams came from north, east, south, and west. They came from the hallway behind me--a hundred of them seemed to converge upon my devoted back. I was fairly soaked through in a second. The panic can hardly be fancied. Men and women shrieked together in the utter amazement of the thing. They laughed aloud, some of them. Others cried out in terror. They leaped and sprang back and forth, to this side and that, in the vain endeavor to dodge the innumerable streams. Some slipped and almost fell, carrying down others with them. And all were doused. Then, as suddenly as it had started, the flood ceased. “Well, God bless my soul!” ejaculated Mr. Blodgett, putting up a hand to wring his collar. “What in Heaven's name happened?” “Great Caesar's ghost!” said Hawkins' voice behind me. He had returned from his trip to the top floor extension. “It's all right,” he called with cheery indifference to the contrary sentiments of two dozen people. “There's no danger. It won't hurt you.” “But it does. It bites!” cried the girl from Jersey. “What is it? Where did it come from?” “Yes, it does bite! It smarts awfully! By Jove! The stuff's eating me! What is it, Hawkins? Oh, Mr. Hawkins, wherever did it come from? Why, it ran out of those dots--I saw it! What is it?” echoed from different parts of the room. “It's only my sprinkler--my fire-extinguisher,” Hawkins explained. “It went off by accident, you see. There's nothing in it to hurt you. It's perfectly neutral. It can't bite--that's imagination.” “But it does!” cried Mrs. Gordon. “It stings like acid. It actually seems to be eating my skin!” “Bite! I should say it did!” growled Mr. Blodgett. “It's chewing my hands off--I believe it's carbolic acid. I do--I'll swear I do. No smell--but it's been deodorized. That's it--carbolic acid!” “Carbolic fiddlesticks!” said Hawkins. Then a puzzled expression came into his eyes. He raised one of his wet hands and tasted it--and spat violently. “Say! Hold on! Wait a minute!” he cried.