He was now in that unpleasant state of prickly heat when testy old gentlemen could commit slaughter with ecstasy.  Had it been the maid holding a candle who had dared to advise, he would have overturned her undoubtedly, and established a fresh instance of the impertinence, the uselessness and weakness of women.  Mrs. Mel topped him by half a head, and in addition stood three steps above him; towering like a giantess.  The extreme gravity of her large face dispersed all idea of an assault.  The old gentleman showed signs of being horribly injured:  nevertheless, he put his hand to the trunk; it was lifted, and the procession ascended the stairs in silence.

The landlady waited for Mrs. Mel to return, and then said: 

’Really, Mrs. Harrington, you are clever.  That lifting that trunk’s as good as a lock and bolt on him.  You’ve as good as made him a Dolphin—­ him that was one o’ the oldest Green Dragons in Fallifield.  My thanks to you most sincere.’

Mrs. Mel sent out to hear where Dandy had got to after which, she said:  ‘Who is the man?’

’I told you, Mrs. Harrington—­the oldest Green Dragon.  His name, you mean?  Do you know, if I was to breathe it out, I believe he’d jump out of the window.  He ’d be off, that you might swear to.  Oh, such a whimsical! not ill-meaning—­quite the contrary.  Study his whims, and you’ll never want.  There’s Mrs. Sockley—­she ’s took ill.  He won’t go there—­that ’s how I’ve caught him, my dear—­but he pays her medicine, and she looks to him the same.  He hate a sick house:  but he pity a sick woman.  Now, if I can only please him, I can always look on him as half a Dolphin, to say the least; and perhaps to-morrow I’ll tell you who he is, and what, but not to-night; for there’s his supper to get over, and that, they say, can be as bad as the busting of one of his own vats.  Awful!’

‘What does he eat?’ said Mrs. Mel.

‘A pair o’ chops.  That seem simple, now, don’t it?  And yet they chops make my heart go pitty-pat.’

‘The commonest things are the worst done,’ said Mrs. Mel.

’It ain’t that; but they must be done his particular way, do you see, Mrs. Harrington.  Laid close on the fire, he say, so as to keep in the juice.  But he ups and bounces in a minute at a speck o’ black.  So, one thing or the other, there you are:  no blacks, no juices, I say.’

‘Toast the chops,’ said Mrs. Mel.

The landlady of the Dolphin accepted this new idea with much enlightenment, but ruefully declared that she was afraid to go against his precise instructions.  Mrs. Mel then folded her hands, and sat in quiet reserve.  She was one of those numerous women who always know themselves to be right.  She was also one of those very few whom Providence favours by confounding dissentients.  She was positive the chops would be ill-cooked:  but what could she do?  She was not in command here; so she waited serenely for the certain disasters to enthrone