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Updated: June 9, 2025
"Withheld!" repeated Aunt Elizabeth. "What do you mean by 'withheld'? Billy, whom are those letters for?" In spite of ourselves mother and I started. Letters have begun to seem rather tragic to us. "One's the gas-bill," said Billy, "and one's for you." Aunt Elizabeth took the large, square envelope and tore it open. Then she looked at mother and smiled a little and tossed her head.
She basted cuffs into her office suit, and cleaned it with benzine, caught up her lunch and umbrella and ran for her car. She lunched and gossiped with Thorny and the others, walked uptown at noon to pay a gas-bill, took Virginia to the Park on Sundays to hear the music, or visited the Carrolls in Sausalito. But inwardly her thoughts were like whirling web.
"I want to see Deacon Jones a minute in reference to a matter about Moses." "Want to pay his gas-bill? What's the last name?" "Oh no. I mean the first Moses, the original one." "Anything the matter with his meter?" "You don't understand me. I refer to the Hebrew prophet. I want to see " "Well, you can't see him here. This is the gas-office. Try next door." At the adjoining window Mr. Lamb said,
The hall was dark. The old man hated a gas-bill. I felt my way to the vault-room door and gently pushed it open, a little at a time. When I got inside I remembered that the very first thing I must attend to during the excitement which would follow the discovery of the robbery was to slip the bolt back in its place.
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