Her brother took the slip of paper and glanced at it very gravely.
"May I ask," said he, putting down the slip on the breakfast cloth, "whether this man has had his boots polished here?"
"Of course he had; twice--three times I think."
"And had he free and unimpeded use of condiments, such as salt, pepper, vinegar, mustard?"
"Yes. You don't think he could eat without salt, do you?"
"Perhaps--perhaps he even had PICKLES?"
"I think he had some pickles."
"Then, Hetty"--he rose, and, buttoning up his coat, made signs of leaving--"I am going to find an auctioneer to sell up the furniture. We are ruined."
"Ah, Alfred, like a good fellow, help me!" she pleaded, coming to him and putting her hand on his arm. "What do you mean by asking all these silly questions about blacking and vinegar?"
"Not one, Hetty, not one of the items I have named is charged in the bill, and I am a pauper, pauperised by your gross carelessness, by the shamefully lax way in which you have kept my books. What do you think would become of the great corporation I serve if our accounts were kept in so criminally neglectful a manner? Why, the Welford Gas Company would be in liquidation in a month! Suppose we treated ammonia lightly; suppose we gave all our coke to the Mission to the Blacks for distribution among the negroes; suppose we made a present of our tar to the Royal Academicians to make aniline colours for pictures to be seen only by night; suppose we gave all our gas to aeronauts who wanted to stare the unfortunate man in the moon out of countenance; suppose we supplied all our customers with dry meters, Hetty; suppose, I say, we supplied all our customers with dry meters, where should we be? Where on earth should we be?"