by W. W. Jacobs
sure I try my best to please. I don't mind what Ido, 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! Alodger, too! You know the arrangement. You'd better go, I think, if youcan't behave yourself."
"I won't go till my three weeks are up," said Mr. Hatchard, doggedly, "soyou may as well behave yourself."
"I can't pamper you for a pound a week," said Mrs. Hatchard, walking tothe door. "If you want pampering, you had better go."
A week passed, and the additional expense caused by getting most of hismeals out began to affect Mr. Hatchard's health. His wife, on thecontrary, was in excellent spirits, and, coming in one day, explained theabsence 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 backparlor and the front bedroom--I'm full up now."
"Wouldn't he like my table, too?" inquired Mr. Hatchard, with bittersarcasm.
His wife said that she would inquire, and brought back word next day thatMr. Sadler, the new lodger, would like it. It disappeared during Mr.Hatchard's enforced absence at business, and a small bamboo table, weakin the joints, did duty in its stead.
The new lodger, a man of middle age with a ready tongue, was a successfrom the first, and it was only too evident that Mrs. Hatchard was tryingher best to please him. Mr. Hatchard, supping on bread and cheese, morethan once left that wholesome meal to lean over the balusters and smellthe hot meats going into Mr. Sadler.
"You're spoiling him," he said to Mrs. Hatchard, after the new lodger hadbeen 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 itis," she remarked. "He asked me yesterday whether he had offended you inany way."
"Oh! He did, did he?" snarled Mr. Hatchard. "Let him keep himself tohimself, and mind his own business."
"He said he thinks you have got a bad temper," continued his wife. "Hethinks, perhaps, it's indigestion, caused by eating cheese for supperalways."
Mr. Hatchard affected not to hear, and, lighting his pipe, listened fersome time to the hum of conversation between his wife and Mr. Sadlerbelow. With an expression of resignation on his face that was almostsaintly he knocked out his pipe at last and went to bed.
Half an hour passed, and he was still awake. His wife's voice hadceased, but the gruff tones of Mr. Sadler were still audible. Then hesat up in bed and listened, as a faint cry of alarm and the sound ofsomebody rushing upstairs fell on his ears. The next moment the door ofhis room burst open, and a wild figure, stumbling in the darkness, rushedover to the bed and clasped him in its arms.
"Help!" gasped his wile's voice. "Oh, Alfred! Alfred!"
"Ma'am!" said Mr. Hatchard in a prim voice, as he struggled in vain tofree himself.
"I'm so--so--fr-frightened!" sobbed Mrs. Hatchard.
"That's no reason for coming into a lodger's room and throwing your armsround his neck," said her husband, severely.
"Don't be stu-stu-stupid," gasped Mrs. Hatchard. "He--he's sittingdownstairs in my room with a paper cap on his head and a fire-shovel inhis hand, and he--he says he's the--the Emperor of China."
"He? Who?" inquired her husband.
"Mr. Sad-Sadler," replied Mrs. Hatchard, almost strangling him. "He mademe kneel in front o' him and keep touching the floor with my head."
The chair-bedstead shook in sympathy with Mr. Hatchard's husbandlyemotion.
"Well, it's nothing to do with me," he said at last.
"He's mad," said his wife, in a tense whisper; "stark staring mad. Hesays I'm his favorite wife, and he made me stroke his forehead."
The bed shook again.
"I don't see that I have any right to interfere," said Mr. Hatchard,after he had quieted the bedstead. "He's your lodger."
"You're my husband," said Mrs. Hatchard. "Ho!" said Mr. Hatchard."You've remembered that, have you?"
"Yes, Alfred," said his wife.
"And are you sorry for all your bad behavior?" demanded Mr. Hatchard.
Mrs. Hatchard hesitated. Then a clatter of fire-irons downstairs movedher to speech.
"Ye-yes," she sobbed.
"And you want me to take you back?" queried the generous Mr. Hatchard.
"Ye-ye-yes," said his wife.
Mr. Hatchard got out of bed and striking a match lit the candle, and,taking his overcoat from a peg behind the door, put it on and marcheddownstairs. Mrs. Hatchard, still trembling, followed behind.
"What's all this?" he demanded, throwing the door open with a flourish.
Mr. Sadler, still holding the fire-shovel sceptre-fashion and still withthe paper cap on his head, opened his mouth to reply. Then, as he sawthe unkempt figure of Mr. Hatchard with the scared face of Mrs. Hatchardpeeping over his shoulder, his face grew red, his eyes watered, and hischeeks swelled.
"K-K-K-Kch! K-Kch!" he said, explosively. "Talk English, not Chinese,"said Mr. Hatchard, sternly.
"'K-K-K-Kch! K-Kch!' he said, explosively."]
Mr. Sadler threw down the fire-shovel, and to Mr. Hatchard's greatannoyance, clapped his open hand over his mouth and rocked withmerriment.
"Sh--sh--she--she--" he spluttered.
"That'll do," said Mr. Hatchard, hastily, with a warning frown.
"Kow-towed to me," gurgled Mr. Sadler. "You ought to have seen it, Alf.I shall never get over it--never. It's--no--no good win-winking at me; Ican't help myself."
He put his handkerchief to his eyes and leaned back exhausted. When heremoved it, he found himself alone and everything still but for a murmurof voices overhead. Anon steps sounded on the stairs, and Mr. Hatchard,grave of face, entered the room.
"Outside!" he said, briefly.
"What!" said the astounded Mr. Sadler. "Why, it's eleven o'clock."
"I can't help it if it's twelve o'clock," was the reply. "You shouldn'tplay the fool and spoil things by laughing. Now, are you going, or haveI got to put you out?"
He crossed the room and, putting his hand on the shoulder of theprotesting Mr. Sadler, pushed him into the passage, and taking his coatfrom the peg held it up for him. Mr. Sadler, abandoning himself to hisfate, got into it slowly and indulged in a few remarks on the subject ofingratitude.
"I can't help it," said his friend, in a low voice. "I've had to swearI've never seen you before."
"Does she believe you?" said the staring Mr. Sadler, shivering at theopen door.
"No," said Mr. Hatchard, slowly, "but she pre-tends to."