Celia sighed and held up her hand.
"Please may I speak to you a moment?" she said, trying to snap her fingers. "Good; I've caught his eye. We want——"
"I'm awfully sorry. What is it?"
"We want some more coal. Never mind this once whether Inman beat Hobbs or not. Just help me."
"Celia, you've been reading the paper," I said in surprise. "I thought you only read the feuill—the serial story. How did you know Inman was playing Hobbs?"
"Well, Poulton or Carpentier or whoever it is. Look here, we're out of coal. What shall I do?"
"That's easy. Order some more. What do you do when you're out of nutmegs?"
"It depends if the nutmeg porters are striking."
"Striking! Good heavens, I never thought about that." I glanced hastily down the headlines of my paper. "Celia, this is serious. I shall have to think about this seriously. Will you order a fire in the library? I shall retire to the library and think this over."
"You can retire to the library, but you can't have a fire there. There's only just enough for the kitchen for two days."