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.