“Don’t you talk to my gentlemen friends like that, Teddy,” said Miss Kybird, sharply, “because I won’t have it. Why don’t you try and be bright and cheerful like Mr. Nugent?” Mr. Silk turned and regarded that gentleman steadfastly; Mr. Nugent meeting his gaze with a pleasant smile and a low-voiced offer to give him lessons at half a crown an hour. “I wouldn’t be like ’im for worlds,” said Mr. Silk, with a scornful laugh. “I’d sooner be like anybody.” “What have you been saying to him?” inquired Nugent. “Nothing,” replied Miss Kybird; “he’s often like that. He’s got a nasty, miserable, jealous disposition. Not that I mind what he thinks.” Mr. Silk breathed hard and looked from one to the other. “Perhaps he’ll grow out of it,” said Nugent, hopefully. “Cheer up, Teddy. You’re young yet.” “Might I arsk,” said the solemnly enraged Mr. Silk, “might I arsk you not to be so free with my Christian name?” “He doesn’t like his name now,” said Nugent, drawing his chair closer to Miss Kybird’s, “and I don’t wonder at it. What shall we call him? Job? What’s that work you’re doing? Why don’t you get on with that fancy waistcoat you are doing for me?” Before Miss Kybird could deny all knowledge of the article in question her sorely tried swain created a diversion by rising. To that simple act he imparted an emphasis which commanded the attention of both beholders, and, drawing over to Miss Kybird, he stood over her in an attitude at once terrifying and reproachful. “Take your choice, Amelia,” he said, in a thrilling voice. “Me or ’im— which is it to be?” “Here, steady, old man,” cried the startled Nugent. “Go easy.” “Me or ’im?” repeated Mr. Silk, in stern but broken accents. Miss Kybird giggled and, avoiding his gaze, looked pensively at the faded hearthrug. “You’re making her blush,” said Mr. Nugent, sternly. “Sit down, Teddy; I’m ashamed of you. We’re both ashamed of you. You’re confusing us dreadfully proposing to us both in this way.” [Illustration: “Me or ’im—which is it to be?”] Mr. Silk regarded him with a scornful eye, but Miss Kybird, bidding him not to be foolish, punctuated her remarks with the needle, and a struggle, which Mr. Silk regarded as unseemly in the highest degree, took place between them for its possession. Mr. Nugent secured it at last, and brandishing it fiercely extorted feminine screams from Miss Kybird by threatening her with it. Nor was her mind relieved until Mr. Nugent, remarking that he would put it back in the pincushion, placed it in the leg of Mr. Edward Silk. Mr. Kybird and his wife, entering through the shop, were just in time to witness a spirited performance on the part of Mr. Silk, the cherished purpose of which was to deprive them of a lodger. He drew back as they entered and, raising his voice above Miss Kybird’s, began to explain his action. “Teddy, I’m ashamed of you,” said Mr. Kybird, shaking his head. “A little joke like that; a little innercent joke.”