“For heaven’s sake! what is the matter?” she cried. “Has anything happened to Billy?”
“Billy! This thing is not an American letter. It is the bill for our cheap lodgings. Look at it! Look at the extras—gas, coals, washing bed—linen, washing table—linen, washing towels, kitchen fires, service, oil for three lamps, afternoon tea, and three shillings for sundries on the fourth page! What can sundries include? She hasn’t skipped anything but pew-rent.”
My sister looked at the total, and buried her face in the pillows to smother a groan.
“Ring the bell,” I said; “I want the maid.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to find out what ‘sundries’ are.”
She gave the bell-cord such a pull that she broke the wire, and it fell down on her head.
“That, too, will go in the bill. Wrap your handkerchief around your hand and give the wire a jerk. Give it a good one. I don’t care if it brings the police.”
The maid came.
“Martha, present my compliments to Mrs. Black, and ask her what ‘sundries’ include.”