From him they learned one day that his Terriphone communicated with the one at home, quite three streets away. "It must be a long hole," remarked Pip reflectively to his sister. The conversation then turned upon the weather. Mr. Pipes announced to the sympathetic Emily that, as a result of having to sit all day in a blooming greenhouse, his feet were slowly turning to ice. The authorities of the Orspital, he added bitterly, declined to allow him a fire, alleging that an oil-stove was sufficient for his needs. "What a shime!" said pretty Emily. "Something crool!" exclaimed sympathetic Pipette. (She had picked up this expression from Susan, the kitchen-maid, who was regarded by her colleagues as being somewhat "common in her talk.") "Pore devil!" remarked Pip dispassionately.