She had been built for canvas and oil-lamps, and this new thingumajig that kept her nose snoring at eight knots when normally she was able to boil along at ten, and these unblinking things they called lamps (that neither smoked nor smelled), irked and threatened to ruin her temper. We have to hang about in the interval. They say it hasn't been opened for eight years—but I won't be eight years in getting out of it. "Quite sorry, my good friend, there should have been any misunderstanding between us," observed the woollen-draper. I'll engage to get the job done by six. I shall now be able to test my skill.
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