" CHAPTER IV. It’s the rarest luck, the wildest, most impossible accident. He made it more and more evident to her that her proper course was not to earn a salary but to accumulate equipment. After knocking for some time at the door without effect, he tried the latch, and to his surprise found it open. 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. " "It is, indeed," replied Mrs.
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