I remained longer than was necessary, because I had something to say to William which I knew he would misunderstand, and so I put off saying it. But when he announced that it was time for him to return to London,--at which his wife suddenly paled, so that he had to sign to her not to break down,--I delivered the message. “William,” I said, “the head waiter asked me to say that you could take a fortnight’s holiday just now. Your wages will be paid as usual.” Confound them! William had me by the hand, and his wife was in tears before I could reach the door. “Is it your doing again, sir?” William cried. “William!” I said, fiercely. “We owe everything to you,” he insisted. “The port wine--” “Because I had no room for it in my cellar.” “The money for the nurse in London--” “Because I objected to being waited on by a man who got no sleep.” “These lodgings--” “Because I wanted to do something for my old nurse.” “And now, sir, a fortnight’s holiday!” “Good-bye, William!” I said, in a fury. But before I could get away Mrs. Hicking signed to William to leave the room, and then she kissed my hand. She said something to me. It was about my wife. Somehow I--What business had William to tell her about my wife? They are all back in Drury Lane now, and William tells me that his wife sings at her work just as she did eight years ago. I have no interest in this, and try to check his talk of it; but such people have no sense of propriety, and he even speaks of the girl Jenny, who sent me lately a gaudy pair of worsted gloves worked by her own hand. The meanest advantage they took of my weakness, however, was in calling their baby after me. I have an uncomfortable suspicion, too, that William has given the other waiters his version of the affair; but I feel safe so long as it does not reach the committee. THE BLACK POODLE, By F. Anstey I have set myself the task of relating in the course of this story, without suppressing or altering a single detail, the most painful and humiliating episode of my life. I do this, not because it will give me the least pleasure, but simply because it affords me an opportunity of extenuating myself, which has hitherto been wholly denied to me. As a general rule, I am quite aware that to publish a lengthy explanation of one’s conduct in any questionable transaction is not the best means of recovering a lost reputation; but in my own case there is one to whom I shall nevermore be permitted to justify by word of mouth--even if I found myself able to attempt it. And as she could not possibly think worse of me than she does at present, I write this, knowing it can do me no harm, and faintly hoping that it may come to her notice and suggest a doubt whether I am quite so unscrupulous a villain, so consummate a hypocrite, as I have been forced to appear in her eyes.