comes regularly on Thursday evenings—early closing, of course. . . . Very natural. . . . Pray, what instrument do you play, Mr. Britton?"
"Indifferently on most, sir. I have a very fine bass viol by Norman, and a Rucker virginal scarcely to be matched in Europe. But for the talent which draws so many of the noble and discriminating to my loft I am indebted to my friends. Mr. Banister takes the first violin, Sir Roger L'Estrange the viol, Mr. Hughes, Mr. Woolaston and Mr. Shuttleworth other instruments of the band, and for the harpsichord I am generally beholden to Dr. Pepusch, while frequently the great Mr. George Handel journeys to Clerkenwell to play my organ."
"Mr. George Handel? . . . Handel!" Mr. Brown's startled eyes took in anew the sturdy if unaggressive form of his visitor. "Yes . . . yes . . . of course . . . it is very warm carrying up these sacks . . . a glass . . . something cooling?"
The coal-man smilingly declined the offer, and, as if reminded of his duty, made haste to get through the work on hand. In a shorter time than Mr. Brown had ever known any other load of even half the amount handled, the full tale of twenty sacks had been shot in, and the relieved flat-holder saw his "cellar" crammed to its full capacity. He avoided the subject of music, however, nor did the harmonious coal-heaver revert to it.
"It looks good coal," commented Brown, as the last sack was emptied, "though certainly not large."
"Small coal of the best," was the reply. "It may perhaps burn a little sulphurous, but it's none the worse for that, and it comes from a very noted Pit."
"Well, when I have any more I hope that your people will send you with it; for I have never before had it brought up so easily."
"I will mention it to my Firm, sir," said the little man.
