“I'll come in and bring my things at nine o'clock to-night,” said Mr. Hatchard. “I'd like the windows open and the rooms aired a bit. And what about the sheets?” “What about them?” inquired his wife. “Don't put me in damp sheets, that's all,” said Mr. Hatchard. “One place I was at——” He broke off suddenly. “Well!” said his wife, quickly. “Was very particular about them,” said Mr. Hatchard, recovering. “Well, good-afternoon to you, ma'am.” “I want three weeks in advance,” said his wife. “Three—” exclaimed the other. “Three weeks in advance? Why——” “Those are my terms,” said Mrs. Hatchard. “Take 'em or leave 'em. P'r'aps it would be better if you left 'em.” Mr. Hatchard looked thoughtful, and then with obvious reluctance took his purse from one pocket and some silver from another, and made up the required sum. “And what if I'm not comfortable here?” he inquired, as his wife hastily pocketed the money. “It'll be your own fault,” was the reply. Mr. Hatchard looked dubious, and, in a thoughtful fashion, walked downstairs and let himself out. He began to think that the joke was of a more complicated nature than he had expected, and it was not without forebodings that he came back at nine o'clock that night accompanied by a boy with his baggage. His gloom disappeared the moment the door opened. The air inside was warm and comfortable, and pervaded by an appetizing smell of cooked meats. Upstairs a small bright fire and a neatly laid supper-table awaited his arrival. He sank into an easy-chair and rubbed his hands. Then his gaze fell on a small bell on the table, and opening the door he rang for supper. “Yes, sir,” said Mrs. Hatchard, entering the room. “Supper, please,” said the new lodger, with dignity. Mrs. Hatchard looked bewildered. “Well, there it is,” she said, indicating the table. “You don't want me to feed you, do you?” The lodger eyed the small, dry piece of cheese, the bread and butter, and his face fell. “I—I thought I smelled something cooking,” he said at last. 'i—i Thought I Smelled Something Cooking,' he Said.' “Oh, that was my supper,” said Mrs. Hatchard, with a smile. “I—I'm very hungry,” said Mr. Hatchard, trying to keep his temper. “It's the cold weather, I expect,” said Mrs. Hatchard, thoughtfully; “it does affect some people that way, I know. Please ring if you want anything.” She left the room, humming blithely, and Mr. Hatchard, after sitting for some time in silent consternation, got up and ate his frugal meal. The fact that the water-jug held three pints and was filled to the brim gave him no satisfaction.