But Mr.Bensington would no more have called it that in cold blood than he would have gone out from his flat in Sloane Street clad in regal scarlet and a wreath of laurel.

The phrase was a mere first cry of astonishment from him.

He called it the Food of the Gods, in his enthusiasm and for an hour or so at the most altogether.

After that he decided he was being absurd.

When he first thought of the thing he saw, as it were, a vista of enormous possibilities--literally enormous possibilities; but upon this dazzling vista, after one stare of amazement, he resolutely shut his eyes, even as a conscientious "scientist" should.