so that he could cling to those whenever he wanted to get about the

room on the lower level.



As we got on with the thing I found myself almost keenly interested.

It was I who called in the housekeeper and broke matters to her,

and it was I chiefly who fixed up the inverted bed. In fact, I spent

two whole days at his flat. I am a handy, interfering sort of man

with a screw-driver, and I made all sorts of ingenious adaptations

for him--ran a wire to bring his bells within reach, turned all

his electric lights up instead of down, and so on. The whole affair

was extremely curious and interesting to me, and it was delightful

to think of Pyecraft like some great, fat blow-fly, crawling about

on his ceiling and clambering round the lintels of his doors

from one room to another, and never, never, never coming to

the club any more. . . .



Then, you know, my fatal ingenuity got the better of me. I was

sitting by his fire drinking his whisky, and he was up in his

favourite corner by the cornice, tacking a Turkey carpet to the

ceiling, when the idea struck me. "By Jove, Pyecraft!" I said, "all

this is totally unnecessary."



And before I could calculate the complete consequences of my notion

I blurted it out. "Lead underclothing," said I, and the mischief was

done.



Pyecraft received the thing almost in tears. "To be right ways up

again--" he said. I gave him the whole secret before I saw where

it would take me. "Buy sheet lead," I said, "stamp it into discs.

Sew 'em all over your underclothes until you have enough. Have

lead-soled boots, carry a bag of solid lead, and the thing is done!

Instead of being a prisoner here you may go abroad again, Pyecraft;

you may travel--"



A still happier idea came to me. "You need never fear a shipwreck.

All you need do is just slip off some or all of your clothes, take the

necessary amount of luggage in your hand, and float up in the air--"



In his emotion he dropped the tack-hammer within an ace of my head.

"By Jove!" he said, "I shall be able to come back to the club again."



The thing pulled me up short. "By Jove!" I said faintly. "Yes.

Of course--you will."



He did. He does. There he sits behind me now, stuffing--as I live!--

a third go of buttered tea-cake. And no one in the whole world knows--

except his housekeeper and me--that he weighs practically nothing;

that he is a mere boring mass of assimilatory matter, mere clouds

in clothing, niente, nefas, the most inconsiderable of men. There

he sits watching until I have done this writing. Then, if he can,



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