‘Not like anything.  Unique!’ replied Mr Blackshaw.

‘Young?’ came the voice.

‘Dates from the thirties,’ said Mr Blackshaw.  ‘I’m coming.’  And rang off.

‘I didn’t know there was any electric machinery as old as that,’ said the mayoral aunt.

‘We’ll just look about us a bit,’ the Mayor remarked.  ’Don’t lose a moment, Mr Blackshaw.’

And Mr Blackshaw hurried off, wondering vaguely how he should explain the lie when it was found out, but not caring much.  After all, he could easily ascribe the episode to the trick of some practical joker.

III

He arrived at his commodious and electrically lit residence in the very nick of time, and full to overflowing with innocent paternal glee.  Was he not about to see Roger’s tub?  Roger was just ready to be carried upstairs as Mr Blackshaw’s latchkey turned in the door.

‘Wait a sec!’ cried Mr Blackshaw to his wife, who had the child in her arms, ‘I’ll carry him up.’

And he threw away his hat, stick, and overcoat and grabbed ecstatically at the infant.  And he had got perhaps halfway up the stairs, when lo! the electric light went out.  Every electric light in the house went out.

‘Great Scott!’ breathed Mr Blackshaw, aghast.

He pulled aside the blind of the window at the turn of the stairs, and peered forth.  The street was as black as your hat, or nearly so.

‘Great Scott!’ he repeated.  ‘May, get candles.’

Something had evidently gone wrong at the Works.  Just his luck!  He had quitted the Works for a quarter of an hour, and the current had failed!

Of course, the entire house was instantly in an uproar, turned upside down, startled out of its life.  But a few candles soon calmed its transports.  And at length Mr Blackshaw gained the bedroom in safety, with the offspring of his desires comfortable in a shawl.

‘Give him to me,’ said May shortly.  ’I suppose you’ll have to go back to the Works at once?’

Mr Blackshaw paused, and then nerved himself; but while he was pausing, May, glancing at the two feeble candles, remarked:  ’It’s very tiresome.  I’m sure I shan’t be able to see properly.’

‘No!’ almost shouted Mr Blackshaw.  ’I’ll watch this kid have his bath or I’ll die for it!  I don’t care if all the Five Towns are in darkness.  I don’t care if the Mayor’s aunt has got caught in a dynamo and is suffering horrible tortures.  I’ve come to see this bath business, and dashed if I don’t see it!’

‘Well, don’t stand between the bath and the fire, dearest,’ said May coldly.

Meanwhile, Emmie, having pretty nearly filled the bath with a combination of hot and cold waters, dropped the floating thermometer into it, and then added more waters until the thermometer indicated the precise temperature proper for a baby’s bath.  But you are not to imagine that Mrs Blackshaw trusted a thermometer—­