Mr Maker looked up at her innocently and replied, "Nothing exploded." And he was telling the truth.
"Then what's that mess in the middle of the room?" The mess she was pointing at, seemed to be growing, and fast.
"That's the explosion of course."
"I thought you said nothing exploded."
"Yes, I did." Mr Maker maintained the look of innocence.
Mrs Maker wasn't giving up, though. "Well, if nothing exploded, then what is that?"
"The explosion, of course."
"What do you mean by that?" She looked around the workshop at the charts that he had been drawing. There seemed to be a lot of circles all over them. She shouldn't have bought him that compass. "And what in your name have you been doing here?"
Mr Maker smiled, since Mrs Maker had never taken any interest in his work before. He took off his gloves as he walked towards one of the charts that had a lot of squiggly figures on it. "I've been doing some calculations," he explained, "and I think - though it might be a while before I can prove this - that I've invented... Time."
Mrs Maker wasn't impressed. "And what is Time supposed to be? Your idea of a joke? You call that mess there," she gestured towards the mess - which seemed to be growing larger - "Time?"
"Oh no, no, no!" Mr Maker turned around to look at it. "That seems to be an unexpected by-product."
"Well, I'm not cleaning it up for you," Mrs Maker replied angrily. "I'm tired of cleaning up after you." And she walked off back to the kitchen.
"Clean it up?" Mr Maker thought to himself. "Now why would I want to do that?" He looked at what the Mrs had called the mess, and smiled to himself as he stroked his beard. "It looks beautiful." He watched it some more, and then thought, "Well, I'll probably have to make some more space for it. It seems to be growing awfully fast. And all those little lights inside it will need some studying too."
As he lifted the ever-growing mess, he realised he'd have to give it a name. Something nicer than what the Mrs had called it. A name that captured the sheer poetry that seemed to emanate from his heart as he watched it grow. It looked like it belonged on its own. And yet, it looked incomplete. Like it would never be complete. Like it would grow until it occupied everything. Until it was everything.
If it were a song, it would be the first verse, and the last. It'd be the only verse. One verse.
He smiled as the name came to him. He'd call it, The UniVerse.