On the Continent you know when the fire wants seeing to merely by listening: "Sounded like the dining-room, that last explosion," somebody remarks.
"I think not," observes another, "I distinctly felt the shock behind me--my bedroom, I expect." Bits of ceiling begin to fall, and you notice that the mirror over the sideboard is slowly coming towards you.
"Why it must be this stove," you say; "curious how difficult it is to locate sound." You snatch up the children and hurry out of the room.

After a while, when things have settled down, you venture to look in again.

Maybe it was only a mild explosion.

A ten-pound note and a couple of plumbers in the house for a week will put things right again.

They tell me they are economical, these German stoves, but you have got to understand them.