That the "nark," with his mean tricks, is a nuisance to wandering beggars is seen in a very short time. For instance, he takes the utensils, which are meant for the common use of the kitchen, and after using them will hide them away for his own future use; so that strangers have often to make tea in a pot without a spout, and look in vain for a saucer or a small saucepan. He also monopolizes the fire with newly-washed clothes, and hungry strangers find great difficulty in cooking their food. He will not oblige by removing these things until the evening, when there would be less demand for the fire. Again, he wants a certain place at the table to sit and eat his food, and he often frowns at innocent strangers who are enjoying their meal in his accustomed seat. He is often mean enough to allow his things to remain on the table after he has done, in readiness for the next meal--instead of clearing them away and making room for hungry new-comers. The worst charge to make against a "nark" is that he is a spy and a tell-tale, and that he lets the lodging-house keeper know all the transactions of the kitchen. When lodgers are told the next morning that they cannot have a bed at that house for another night, and cannot get to know the reason why, they come to the conclusion that they have been reported by a "nark" for complaining about a bad fire, insufficiency of bed-clothes, teapots, saucers, or cups. Most deputies in lodging-houses were in the first place "narks." Sometimes a "nark" fails, in spite of being well known in the town, to earn the price of his bed, or to borrow it, and returns to the lodging-house for trust. After that he shows his gratitude by sweeping the kitchen, or washing plates and tea-things, which the lodging-house keeper had to do himself. The latter, seeing this, asks him to do other things, and of course gives him bed and board, and a shilling at the end of the week. He no longer goes out as a drover, or seeking odd jobs, but sweeps, washes, scrubs, makes beds, etc. Taking everything into consideration the work is not so unremunerative as it appears, for every man in the house solicits his friendship. From morning till night he is offered saucers-full of tea from the many lodgers. In fact, he is often at his wits' end to know how to spend his very small wages, for the lodgers supply him with tobacco, beer, and even clothes and boots. He gets so many presents every week that he makes money by selling them. As may be expected, it is from the "narks" that he reaps the most profit; for they never fail to share with him their titbits and give him the price of beer, which makes him favour that class, and prejudiced against casual lodgers.