" (This
was in pre-war times, it must be remembered, and the scuttles were of
painfully meagre proportions.) "It might be as well to put that large
coal-box in her room--you know the one I mean--and make the charge
eightpence."
The box in question was certainly of imposing exterior proportions, but
its tin lining was of a quite different domestic period and made no
pretensions as to fitting. It lay loosely inside its sham mahogany
casing like the shrivelled kernel of a nut in its shell.
"The big coal-scuttle really doesn't hold twopenny-worth more coal than
the others," observed Miss Bunting tentatively.
A dull flush mounted to Mrs. Lawrence's cheek. She liked the prospect of
screwing an extra twopence out of one of her boarders, but she hated
having the fact so clearly pointed out to her. There were times when she
found Miss Bunting's conscientiousness something of a trial.
"It's a much larger box," she protested sharply.
"Yes. I know it is--outside. But the lining only holds two more knobs
than the sixpenny ones."
Mrs. Lawrence frowned.
"Do I understand that you--you actually measured the amount it contains?"
she asked, with bitterness.
"Yes," retorted Miss Bunting valiantly. "And compared it with the
others. It was when you told me to put the eightpenny scuttle in Miss
Jenkins' room. She complained at once."
"Then you exceeded your duties, Miss Bunting.
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