“I cut my chin slightly when shaving,” he explained, “and the wound persists in bleeding. It has an untidy appearance, and a drop of blood might fall on a letter.” The walk that morning was quite broken, and before reaching the corner, he had twice examined his chin with a handkerchief, and shaken his head as one whose position in life was now uncertain. “It is nothing in itself,” he said afterwards, with an apologetic allusion to his anxiety, “and might not matter to another man. But any little misadventure--a yesterday's collar or a razor cut, or even an inky finger--would render me helpless in dealing with people. They would simply look at the weak spot, and one would lose all authority. Some of the juniors smile when I impress on them to be very careful about their dress--quiet, of course, as becomes their situation, but unobjectionable. With more responsibility they will see the necessity of such details. I will remember your transparent sticking-plaster--a most valuable suggestion.” His name was Frederick Augustus Perkins; so ran the card he left on my table a week after I settled in the next rooms, and the problem of his calling gradually became a standing vexation. It fell under the class of conundrums, and one remembered from childhood that it is mean to be told the answer, so I might not say to Mister Perkins--for it was characteristic of the prim little man that no properly constituted person could have said Perkins--“By the way, what is your line of things?” or any more decorous rendering of my curiosity. Mrs. Holmes, who was as a mother to Mr. Perkins and myself, as well as two younger men of literary pursuits and irregular habits, had a gift of charming irrelevance, and was able to combine allusions to Mr. Perkins' orderly life and the amatory tendencies of a new cook in a mosaic of enthralling interest. “No, Betsy Jane has 'ad her notice and goes this day week; not that her cookin's bad, but her brothers don't know when to leave. One was 'ere no later than last night, though if he was her born brother, 'e 'ad a different father and mother, or my name ain't 'Olmes. 'Your brother, Betsy Jane,' says I, 'ought not to talk in a strange 'ouse on family affairs till eleven o'clock.' “'E left at 'alf-past ten punctual,' says she, looking as hinnocent as a child, 'for I 'eard Mr. Perkins go up to 'is room as I was lettin' Jim out. “'Betsy Jane,' I says, quite calm, 'where do you expeck to go to as doesn't know wot truth is?' for Mr. Perkins leaves 'is room has the 'all clock starts on eleven, and e's in 'is bedroom at the last stroke. If she 'adn't brought in Mr. Perkins she might'ave deceived me, gettin' old and not bein' so quick in my hearing as I was; but that settled her. “'Alf-past,” went on Mrs. Holmes, scornfully; “and 'im never varied two minutes the last ten years, except one night 'e fell asleep in 'is chair, being bad with hinfluenza.