but he works hard for them, pays his rent with them, and gives one
occasionally to a nephew. That youth, at any rate, likes the cheerful
sound. He is rather fond, too, of monopolising the front of the fire
in company, and thinks more of what he is going to eat, some time
before he eats it, than a man should. But really I can't accuse him of
anything worse than such little weaknesses. The first floor is
occupied by a person of whom very little is known, who goes out
chiefly at night and is hardly ever seen during the day. Tradesmen,
and the crossing-sweeper at the corner, have caught a glimpse on rare
occasions of a white face at the window, the startled face of a queer
creature, who blinks and wrings at his nails with his teeth; who
peers at you, jerks and grins; who seems uncertain what to do; who
sometimes shoots out his hands as if he would drive them through the
glass: altogether a mischancy, unaccountable apparition, probably mad.
Nobody knows how long he has been here; for the landlord found him in
possession when he bought the lease, and the ground-floor, who was
here also, fancies that they came together, but can't be sure. There
he is, anyhow, and without an open scandal one doesn't like to give
him notice. A curious thing about the man is that neither landlord nor
ground-floor will admit acquaintance with him to each other, although,
if the truth were known, each of them knows something--for each of
them has been through his door; and I will answer for one of them, at
least, that he has accompanied the Undesirable upon more than one
midnight excursion, and has enjoyed himself enormously. If you could
get either of these two alone in a confidential mood you might learn
some curious particulars of their coy neighbour; and not the least
curious would be the effect of his changing the glass of the first
floor windows. It seems that he had that done directly he got into his
rooms, saying that it was impossible to see out of such windows, and
that a man must have light. Where he got his glass from, by whom it