"I be stiff," she began, "and—and cold. Wotever's the hour? Bide a bit, Ronald, and I'll find the matches and turn on the gas."
"What's the matter with the room?" said Ronald.
"I don't know nothing," said Connie.
"My eyes smart," said Ronald, "and I can't breathe."
"I feel queer too," said Connie. "I won't be a second finding out, though. You lie quiet."
She groped about, found a match-box, which still contained a few matches, struck a light, and applied it to the gas, which was at full pressure now, and roared out, making a great flame.
"W'y, the room's full o' smoke," said Connie. "Wottever can it be?"
Ronald sat up in bed, opening his eyes.
"Where does it come from?" he said. "The fire is out."
Just then Big Ben proclaimed the hour of three.