"But the Head isn't always in the best of tempers—makes these small attentions difficult sometimes."
It was not until he had gone that Mr. Brown remembered something. In the strangeness of the whole affair he had forgotten to pay the bill; nor, for the matter of that, had the man presented it. The musician hurried to a front window to catch the name on the cart, for he was not even sure to which firm he owed the supply. There a fresh surprise awaited him in that day of wonders. There was no cart in sight. There was no coalman in sight. The stairs were empty. Nothing but the coal itself and the delicious lingering aroma of waxed sacking remained to prove the reality of the visit.
That afternoon Mr. Brown set out to discharge the account. He called first on his regular dealer, and found him involved in a wordy conflict with an acrimonious lady who had been promised some coal in February. It would appear that it had not yet arrived, and she was demanding to be told what she was to do, now that the Government regulated everything.
"Don't ask me," the harassed man was saying as Mr. Brown entered. "I'm not the Government."
"Still, you might as well be," she replied. "They don't seem to do anything but sit about and make promises."
"What else are they to do," he retorted furiously, "with people like you about?"
"I should think they might try managing coal depots," was her parting shot. "Looks as though they are cut out for it."
"And what can I do for you, sir?" demanded the manager of Mr. Brown, with passionate intentness.
"Some coal was left at my place this morning. I don't know if it came from you"
"You have the delivery-note, I suppose?"
