tch up all the
coals in the mornin'?"

This master-stroke of strategy turned public opinion dead against
Number Seven, who retired amidst a murmur of disapproving voices.

"It's 'ard if I can't go out to see a dyin' wife an' child, without
'im a-comin' usin' 'ot words like that," grumbled Bindle, as he
proceeded to investigate the cases of the other tenants and their
minions.

Number One was expecting a parcel. Had it arrived?

No, it had not, but Bindle would not rest until it did.

Number Twelve, a tall, melancholy-visaged man, had lost Fluffles.
Where did Bindle think she was?

"P'raps she's taken up with another cove, sir," suggested Bindle
sympathetically. "You never knows where you are with women."

The maid from Number Fifteen giggled.

Number Twelve explained in a weary tone that Fluffles was a Pekinese
spaniel.

"A dog, you say, sir," cried Bindle, "why didn't you say so before? I
might 'ave advertised for--well, well, I'll keep a look out."

"Wot's that?" he enquired of the maid from Number Eight. "No coal?
Can't fetch coal up after six o'clock. That's the rules," he added
with decision.

"But we must have some, we can't go to bed without coal," snapped the
girl, an undersized, shrewish little creature.

"Well, Queenie," responded Bindle imperturbably, "you'll 'ave to take
some firewood to bed with you, if you wants company; coal you don't
get to-night. Wot about a log?"

"My name's not 'Queenie,'" snapped the girl.

"Ain't it now," remarked Bindle; "shows your father and mother 'adn't
an eye for the right thing, don't it?"

"I tell you we must have coal," persisted the girl.

"Now look 'ere, Queenie, my dear, a gal as wants to take coal to bed
with 'er ain't--well, she ain't respectable. Now orf you goes like a
good gal."

"It's in case of raids, you saucy 'ound!" screeched "Queenie." "I'll
get even with you yet, you red-nosed little bounder! I'll pay you!"

"Funny where they learns it all," remarked Bindle to Number Eleven, a
quiet little old lady who wanted a postage stamp.

The little lady smiled.

"She won't be wantin' coal in the next world if she goes on like that,
will she, mum?" said Bindle as he handed her the stamp.

"Her mistress has a weak heart," ventured Number Eleven, "and during
the raids she shivers so----"

"Now ain't that jest like a woman, beggin' your pardon, mum. Why
didn't Queenie say that instead of showin' 'ow bad she's been brought
up? Right-o! I'll take