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Updated: May 13, 2025
And Mr. Bullfinch seemed slightly embarrassed as he explained what he thought must have happened. "I have only my own carelessness to blame," said Mr. Bullfinch. "You see, I burn charcoal in the fireplace in my den. I keep a big sack of charcoal briquets out in the garage.
"This Rowley person has a lot of half-baked ideas about briquets and retort recoveries, and talks vaguely of big profits; but he's got nothing practical. I shipped him off." "But," says Mr. Robert, "I think he was promised that his schemes should have a consideration by the board." "Very well," says Willis G. jaunty. "I'll give 'em a report next meeting. Wednesday, isn't it?
Then another match was struck, then another. Those that had no matches struck their briquets, and these burned with a tiny yellow flame. One or two took down candles and lit them. All over the room, in little groups, or widely separated, Alexina saw face after face, white and anxious, appear. The bodies were invisible. The faces hung, pallid disks, in the dark.
This morning felt like June and this afternoon's more like March. That's Washington spring weather for you." Jerry agreed that the weather had turned chilly. He watched the flames lick the charcoal briquets in the fireplace. Mr. Bullfinch had a grate shaped like a cradle in his fireplace and burned charcoal or coal instead of logs. It would be a wonderful fire for a cook-out, Jerry thought.
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