"But the nicest gentleman here," she went on, "is Mr. Lacey. Always full of his jokes, and so kind. Mr. Furley is kind too, but he doesn't think. Mr. Lacey's kindness is special to yourself, if you know what I mean. And you should see his rooms--they're just like a museum, and if I dare to lift so much as a piece of crumpled-up paper he's all over me. The things he calls me, you'd be astonished; but so different from Mr. Spanton. Mr. Spanton cuts, but Mr. Lacey says them in such a way that I only laugh; and yet if a stranger that didn't know his ways were to hear, they'd think it awful. The language! In a Court of Law they'd nearly hang him for it. But there, there's few things we say or do, I often think, as wouldn't get the rope round our necks in a Court of Law if the right kind of barrister gentleman asked the questions. It makes me shiver reading the cross-examinations." How long she would have continued, I cannot say, had she not been interrupted by the sound of voices in the street, which proceeded from a comedy storm in which the part of Boreas was played by her hero, the first-floor-back. For Mr. Lacey, although normally genial and out for fun, has in reserve for injustice a hurricane temper which he keeps in some cave of the winds within his brain. It was this that we now witnessed in action from our open window. An organist, who was English and who had but one leg, had been playing for a few minutes to a delighted audience of children. The tune was "Every nice girl loves a sailor," which is, I believe, old, but as sound in melody as the sentiment which it conveys is sound in fact. Then suddenly a policeman had arrived and waved the musician to a less select neighbourhood. Lacey, who appears to have been watching from the door step, was in the theatre of war in a moment. From our private box we could hear everything. "Why do you send this man away?" Lacey had evidently asked. The policeman said that he had been requested by residents not to allow street music thereabouts. "When?" Mr. Lacey inquired. "Oh, at different times." "Not this morning?" "No." "Very well, then, give the man his chance." "It couldn't be done," said the policeman. "It shall be done," said Lacey. "If anyone is to be arrested let it be me," and he told the organ-grinder to continue. At this moment a resident came out of the opposite house, and, ignoring Lacey entirely, requested the constable to move the music on. This was meat and drink to Lacey. He turned his back on the organ and the officer and settled down to action with the householder. Why, might he ask, was the music to be moved on? Because the householder objected to it. Was anyone in the house ill? No. And what was the householder's objections? Such things were a nuisance and should not be permitted. Had the householder noticed that the man had but one leg?