Perhaps nothing worse could befall a house than to have two rival handy men. I was at one place where a man claimed to have given satisfaction for a number of years. He was certainly liked, for even those who scorned his talents could not resist his ways as a cadger of tea, sugar, tobacco, and other things. But alas! his fatal day came when a man, who was receiving a good pension, took lodgings at the same house, and, wanting something to occupy his mind, began shaving, cutting hair, and mending boots free of charge. "Look here," said the old handy man to the new one--"Look here, before you came I could always pay for my bed, tobacco, not to mention a glass or two of ale; but your coming here has spoilt all that." "Well," answered the good-natured pensioner, "you are one of the biggest and strongest men in the house, and why don't you look for a man's labour, instead of loafing about for a woman's work--sewing and washing clothes? I am not taking pennies from poor fellows old or broken in health who as paper-men, toy-sellers, and sandwichmen, barely earn enough for their own wants." Not many days after this the big, healthy schemer had to walk out for his living, and had heavy tasks put before him, which he was well able to perform. Then the poor lodgers had peace to do their own washing and mending, while the good-natured pensioner attended to their boots, beard, and hair. XXIV On Books I have never had much chance to enjoy books. Even after writing four books, which were regarded as literary successes, my library consisted of only about fifty volumes, some of which were magazines, and not worth a second reading. This being so, it is hardly likely that I can ever forgive this world for keeping me without books when my enthusiasm was great, for I don't want them now. I have often envied the thousands of rich people that have well-stocked libraries and no desire to use them. When my enthusiasm was greatest I was not able to enjoy books owing to the circumstances under which they had to be read. For instance, when I lived in a common lodging-house, preferring freedom on a small income to drudgery on a large one, I had plenty of time to visit free libraries. At those places I could, by signing my name and address, borrow any book mentioned in the catalogue, and read it on the premises. I often wish I now had some of the books I read at that time and could not enjoy. The reason I could not enjoy them at that time was owing to several causes, which were strong enemies against enthusiasm. In the first place, I had to give a false address, because the name of a lodging-house was not respectable, and condemned me as unclean. Owing to this I could never feel comfortable, for if I happened to look up from my book and saw the librarian looking my way, I always thought that he was weighing in his mind what manner of man I was. Sometimes a librarian would stare at me so boldly that I lost no time in returning the