When I got to the fust landin' I run
me hands over the bag, gittin' 'em good and black, then I smeared me
face, and up I went another flight.
"'Who's there?' he says, when I knocked.
"'Coals,' I says.
"'Where from?' he says.
"I told him the name on the card. He opened the door an inch and I could
see a chain between the crack.
"'Let me see yer face,' he says. I twisted it out from under the edge of
the bag. 'All right,' he says, and he slipped back the chain and in I
went, stoopin' down as if it weighed a ton.
"'Where'll I put it?' I says.
"'In the box,' he says, walkin' toward the grate. 'Have ye brought the
bill?'
"'I have,' I says, still keepin' me head down. 'It's in me side pocket.
Pull it out, please, me hand's that dirty'--and out come the writ!
"Ye ought to have seen his face when he read it. He made a jump for the
door, but I got there fust and downstairs in a tumble, and fell in a
heap at the foot with everything he could lay his hands on comin' after
me--tongs, shovel, and poker.
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