He was still hungry when he arose next morning, and, with curiosity tempered by uneasiness, waited for his breakfast. Mrs. Hatchard came in at last, and after polite inquiries as to how he had slept proceeded to lay breakfast. A fresh loaf and a large teapot appeared, and the smell of frizzling bacon ascended from below. Then Mrs. Hatchard came in again, and, smiling benevolently, placed an egg before him and withdrew. Two minutes later he rang the bell. “You can clear away,” he said, as Mrs. Hatchard entered the room. “What, no breakfast?” she said, holding up her hands. “Well, I've heard of you single young men, but I never thought——” “The tea's cold and as black as ink,” growled the indignant lodger, “and the egg isn't eatable.” “I'm afraid you're a bit of a fault-finder,” said Mrs. Hatchard, shaking her head at him. “I'm sure I try my best to please. I don't mind what I do, but if you're not satisfied you'd better go.” “Look here, Emily—” began her husband. “Don't you 'Emily' me!” said Mrs. Hatchard, quickly. “The idea! A lodger, too! You know the arrangement. You'd better go, I think, if you can't behave yourself.” “I won't go till my three weeks are up,” said Mr. Hatchard, doggedly, “so you may as well behave yourself.” “I can't pamper you for a pound a week,” said Mrs. Hatchard, walking to the door. “If you want pampering, you had better go.” A week passed, and the additional expense caused by getting most of his meals out began to affect Mr. Hatchard's health. His wife, on the contrary, was in excellent spirits, and, coming in one day, explained the absence of the easy-chair by stating that it was wanted for a new lodger. “He's taken my other two rooms,” she said, smiling—“the little back parlor and the front bedroom—I'm full up now.” “Wouldn't he like my table, too?” inquired Mr. Hatchard, with bitter sarcasm. His wife said that she would inquire, and brought back word next day that Mr. Sadler, the new lodger, would like it. It disappeared during Mr. Hatchard's enforced absence at business, and a small bamboo table, weak in the joints, did duty in its stead. The new lodger, a man of middle age with a ready tongue, was a success from the first, and it was only too evident that Mrs. Hatchard was trying her best to please him. Mr. Hatchard, supping on bread and cheese, more than once left that wholesome meal to lean over the balusters and smell the hot meats going into Mr. Sadler. “You're spoiling him,” he said to Mrs. Hatchard, after the new lodger had been there a week. “Mark my words—he'll get above himself.” “That's my look-out,” said his wife briefly. “Don't come to me if youget into trouble, that's all,” said the other. Mrs. Hatchard laughed derisively. “You don't like him, that's what it is,” she remarked. “He asked me yesterday whether he had offended you in any way.” “Oh! He did, did he?” snarled Mr. Hatchard. “Let him keep himself to himself, and mind his own business.”