In August Mr. Brown called on eleven other coal merchants and recklessly ordered a ton of coal from each. Seven declined the business; of the others, one promised delivery that day week at 8.30 in the morning (or, he added, between 8.30 and a quarter to nine, say), another that day twelvemonth, and the remainder at various intervening dates.
Later in the month Brown wrote an unwise letter to each of the dealers, stating that although he had thoughtlessly specified coal when ordering, he was really prepared to accept whatever substitute they were then supplying under that name. It was only his way of reminding them; but as the tone of the communication was light and flippant, each recipient thought that it must convey some hidden insult, and the order was accordingly struck off the books.
In September his original dealer rebuked him for impatience, pointing out that although he had been faithfully promised coal in May, there were many others in the same plight who had been just as faithfully promised for April or even March.
In October Mr. Brown began to contemplate suicide as the simplest way out of it. For over a month the nights had been seasonably cold, and even in the daytime it had now become unpleasantly chilly sitting before an empty grate. To stay in meant being starved to death; to go out (the servant had been dispensed with as a war economy) meant missing the coal when it did arrive. That morning Mrs. Brown had ventured on a well-meant suggestion. Her husband had feigned to accept it in a vein of sustained irony. Ultimately the lady had gone out shopping in tears, and it now seemed to the repentant and unhappy man that the best thing he could do was to go out in smoke.
But in the meanwhile the unusual call had drawn
