"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 you
get 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."

"He said he thinks you have got a bad temper," continued his wife. "He
thinks, perhaps, it's indigestion, caused by eating cheese for supper