I remember that Arnold was always squabbling with his laundress. He was an assertive little chap, and understood nothing in the world but dogs. He had no sense of humor; resented Mrs. Neaves and asked me to mediate. I suggested an apology. Mrs. Neaves was blue-eyed. She had a singularly flat, red nose. “Me apologize to the likes of ’im!” she cried out in a pained voice. “Me! As ’ave cleaned that set for years. Why, I treats ’im worse than the dirt under my feet. Do you know what he did? ’E threatened to punch my nose.” “Come, come! Did he do it?” “Did ’e do it! It ’ud a bin Gawd ’elp ’im if ’e ’ad. I’d a summonsed ’im,” she cried as she flounced off. After this Arnold went through many vicissitudes; a new laundress every week. He was like a woman; took these things to heart. I shall never forget how pleased he was when he came to tell me that he’d got a treasure at last. She was very smart; a rather supercilious young married woman, with long earrings and a pert, white face. She came to the Inn wearing black kid gloves and a silver locket and chain; she carried a little reticule with her apron rolled up tightly inside. Things went very well for a week. She kept the place spotless. But when Arnold paid her on Saturday afternoon, she asked him civilly to “suit himself.” “The work’s far too heavy,” she said mincingly, “and the rooms is invested with beadles to an awful extent. It’s not as if I was obliged to work, you see, sir. I only do it to occupy my time--not having any children--and to help pay back the money my husband’s mother lent him. There’s no hurry for that. She’s in a good position. Got her own laundry, paid seven hundred down for it. My husband was in the army, and she bought him out before we were married. I couldn’t think of marrying a soldier--all the refuge goes into the army. If only you could get a girl to come in and do the rough work for a hour every morning, my husband wouldn’t object to me obliging you.” “What’s a man to do?” Arnold asked dejectedly of me in the evening. “I’m half inclined to chuck the Inn and go back to diggings; the Common was good for the dog to run on. But then there’s the landlady--she always objects to dogs. And some of them have principles--I call all principle prejudice--about the latch key.” “You’d better take back Mrs. Neaves. Give her a shilling a week more; that’s all she was trying for. You’d save in the end. How many have you had altogether?” He began to count on his fingers.