of having superiors, which sometimes complicates things. His way of meeting the situation and avoiding any little unpleasantness that might prejudice it, is to adopt a friendly hail-fellow-well-met air, retaining his hat which he wears well pushed back off his classically-shaped brow, in the approved Canadian manner.
This, of course, is on one of those infrequent occasions, put off as long as possible always, when it becomes absolutely necessary to speak to Williams, and he has been watched for, waylaid and triumphantly produced by Janet.
"Williams," I find myself saying a trifle crisply, "why is it when you come in the evenings lately, there is such a smell of coal-gas all over the house? Are you particular to open the drafts always before you put fresh coal on?"
"It's them pipes," responds Williams disputatively, striking an attitude and ignoring my question. "They ain't no good. They're fallin' to pieces. A buddy can't clean 'em properly. You'd ought to hev' noo ones put in."
This naturally produces something of a shock, as Williams intends it shall, and while
