“In the first place if I may borrow a garden trowel I will remove some of this earth with which I am encased, and then if I may avail myself of your domestic conveniences I will have a bath.  This done, we will converse more at leisure.  It will be wise, I think”—­he laid a muddy hand on my arm—­“if nothing were said of this affair beyond ourselves.  I know I have caused great damage—­probably even dwelling-houses may be ruined here and there upon the country-side.  But on the other hand, I cannot possibly pay for the damage I have done, and if the real cause of this is published, it will lead only to heartburning and the obstruction of my work.  One cannot foresee everything, you know, and I cannot consent for one moment to add the burthen of practical considerations to my theorising.  Later on, when you have come in with your practical mind, and Cavorite is floated—­floated is the word, isn’t it?—­and it has realised all you anticipate for it, we may set matters right with these persons.  But not now—­not now.  If no other explanation is offered, people, in the present unsatisfactory state of meteorological science, will ascribe all this to a cyclone; there might be a public subscription, and as my house has collapsed and been burnt, I should in that case receive a considerable share in the compensation, which would be extremely helpful to the prosecution of our researches.  But if it is known that I caused this, there will be no public subscription, and everybody will be put out.  Practically I should never get a chance of working in peace again.  My three assistants may or may not have perished.  That is a detail.  If they have, it is no great loss; they were more zealous than able, and this premature event must be largely due to their joint neglect of the furnace.  If they have not perished, I doubt if they have the intelligence to explain the affair.  They will accept the cyclone story.  And if during the temporary unfitness of my house for occupation, I may lodge in one of the untenanted rooms of this bungalow of yours—­”

He paused and regarded me.

A man of such possibilities, I reflected, is no ordinary guest to entertain.

“Perhaps,” said I, rising to my feet, “we had better begin by looking for a trowel,” and I led the way to the scattered vestiges of the greenhouse.

And while he was having his bath I considered the entire question alone.  It was clear there were drawbacks to Mr. Cavor’s society I had not foreseen.  The absentmindedness that had just escaped depopulating the terrestrial globe, might at any moment result in some other grave inconvenience.  On the other hand I was young, my affairs were in a mess, and I was in just the mood for reckless adventure—­with a chance of something good at the end of it.  I had quite settled in my mind that I was to have half at least in that aspect of the affair.  Fortunately I held my bungalow, as I have already explained, on a three-year agreement, without being responsible for repairs; and my furniture, such as there was of it, had been hastily purchased, was unpaid for, insured, and altogether devoid of associations.  In the end I decided to keep on with him, and see the business through.