“’I carn’t ‘elp it,’ he went on; ’I ’ave to live two lives.  ’Arf my time I’m a stuck-up prig, as orter be jolly well kicked—­’

“‘At which times,’ I interrupted, ’I have heard you express some extremely uncomplimentary opinions concerning ‘Arries.’

“‘I know,’ he replied, in a voice betraying strong emotion; ’that’s where it’s so precious rough on me.  When I’m a toff I despises myself, ’cos I knows that underneath my sneering phiz I’m a bloomin’ ’Arry.  When I’m an ’Arry, I ’ates myself ‘cos I knows I’m a toff.’

“‘Can’t you decide which character you prefer, and stick to it?’ I asked.

“‘No,’ he answered, ’I carn’t.  It’s a rum thing, but whichever I am, sure as fate, ‘bout the end of a month I begin to get sick o’ myself.’

“‘I can quite understand it,’ I murmured; ’I should give way myself in a fortnight.’

“‘I’ve been myself, now,’ he continued, without noticing my remark, ’for somethin’ like ten days.  One mornin’, in ‘bout three weeks’ time, I shall get up in my diggins in the Mile End Road, and I shall look round the room, and at these clothes ‘angin’ over the bed, and at this yer concertina’ (he gave it an affectionate squeeze), ’and I shall feel myself gettin’ scarlet all over.  Then I shall jump out o’ bed, and look at myself in the glass.  “You howling little cad,” I shall say to myself, “I have half a mind to strangle you”; and I shall shave myself, and put on a quiet blue serge suit and a bowler ’at, tell my landlady to keep my rooms for me till I comes back, slip out o’ the ’ouse, and into the fust ’ansom I meets, and back to the Halbany.  And a month arter that, I shall come into my chambers at the Halbany, fling Voltaire and Parini into the fire, shy me ’at at the bust of good old ’Omer, slip on my blue suit agen, and back to the Mile End Road.’

“‘How do you explain your absence to both parties?’ I asked.

“‘Oh, that’s simple enough,’ he replied.  ’I just tells my ’ousekeeper at the Halbany as I’m goin’ on the Continong; and my mates ’ere thinks I’m a traveller.’

“‘Nobody misses me much,’ he added, pathetically; ’I hain’t a partic’larly fetchin’ sort o’ bloke, either of me.  I’m sich an out-and-outer.  When I’m an ’Arry, I’m too much of an ’Arry, and when I’m a prig, I’m a reg’lar fust prize prig.  Seems to me as if I was two ends of a man without any middle.  If I could only mix myself up a bit more, I’d be all right.’

“He sniffed once or twice, and then he laughed.  ‘Ah, well,’ he said, casting aside his momentary gloom; ’it’s all a game, and wot’s the odds so long as yer ’appy.  ‘Ave a wet?’

“I declined the wet, and left him playing sentimental airs to himself upon the concertina.

“One afternoon, about a month later, the servant came to me with a card on which was engraved the name of ‘Mr. Joseph Smythe.’  I requested her to show him up.  He entered with his usual air of languid superciliousness, and seated himself in a graceful attitude upon the sofa.