“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.

[Illustration:  “‘I—­I thought I smelled something cooking,’ he said.”]

“Oh, that was my supper,” said Mrs. Hatchard, with a smile.

“I—­I’m very hungry,” said Mr. Hatchard, trying to keep his temper.

“It’s the cold weather, I expect,” said Mrs. Hatchard, thoughtfully; “it does affect some people that way, I know.  Please ring if you want anything.”

She left the room, humming blithely, and Mr. Hatchard, after sitting for some time in silent consternation, got up and ate his frugal meal.  The fact that the water-jug held three pints and was filled to the brim gave him no satisfaction.

He was still hungry when he arose next morning, and, with curiosity tempered by uneasiness, waited for his breakfast.  Mrs. Hatchard came in at last, and after polite inquiries as to how he had slept proceeded to lay breakfast.  A fresh loaf and a large teapot appeared, and the smell of frizzling bacon ascended from below.  Then Mrs. Hatchard came in again, and, smiling benevolently, placed an egg before him and withdrew.  Two minutes later he rang the bell.

“You can clear away,” he said, as Mrs. Hatchard entered the room.

“What, no breakfast?” she said, holding up her hands.  “Well, I’ve heard of you single young men, but I never thought——­”

“The tea’s cold and as black as ink,” growled the indignant lodger, “and the egg isn’t eatable.”

“I’m afraid you’re a bit of a fault-finder,” said Mrs. Hatchard, shaking her head at him.  “I’m sure I try my best to please.  I don’t mind what I do, 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!  A lodger, too!  You know the arrangement.  You’d better go, I think, if you can’t behave yourself.”

“I won’t go till my three weeks are up,” said Mr. Hatchard, doggedly, “so you may as well behave yourself.”

“I can’t pamper you for a pound a week,” said Mrs. Hatchard, walking to the door.  “If you want pampering, you had better go.”

A week passed, and the additional expense caused by getting most of his meals out began to affect Mr. Hatchard’s health.  His wife, on the contrary, was in excellent spirits, and, coming in one day, explained the absence 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 back parlor and the front bedroom—­I’m full up now.”