yet; but you shouldn't have young gentlemen about the
place.'

'I can't help it, mum,' said Mrs Mosk, beginning to cry. 'I'm sure we
must earn our living somehow. This is an 'otel, isn't it? and Mosk's a
pop'lar character, ain't he? I'm sure it's hard enough to make ends meet
as it is; we owe rent for half a year and can't pay--and won't pay,'
wailed Mrs Mosk, 'unless my 'usband comes 'ome on Skinflint.'

'Comes home on Skinflint, woman, what do you mean?'

'Skinflint's a 'orse, mum, as Mosk 'ave put his shirt on.'

Mrs Pansey wagged her plumes and groaned. 'I'm sadly afraid your
husband is a son of perdition, Mrs Mosk. Put his shirt on Skinflint,
indeed!'

'He's a good man to me, anyhow,' cried Mrs Mosk, plucking up spirit.

'Drink and betting,' continued Mrs Pansey, pretending not to hear this
feeble defiance. 'What can we expect from a man who drinks and bets?'

'And associates with bad characters,' put in Cargrim, seizing his
chance.

'That he don't, sir,' said Mrs Mosk, with energy. 'May I beg of you to
put a name to one of 'em?'

'Jentham,' said the chaplain, softly. 'Who is Jentham, Mrs Mosk?'

'I know no more nor a babe unborn, sir. He's bin 'ere two weeks, and I
did see him twice afore my back got so bad as to force me to bed. But I
don't see why you calls him bad, sir. He pays his way.'

'Oh,' groaned Mrs Pansey, 'is it the chief end of man to pay his way?'

'It is with us, mum,' retorted Mrs Mosk, meekly; 'there ain't no denying
of it. And Mr Jentham do pay proper though he _is_ a gipsy.'

'He's a gipsy, is he?' said Cargrim, alertly.

'So he says, sir; and I knows as he goes sometimes to that camp of
gipsies on Southberry Heath.'

'Where does he get his money from?'

'Better not inquire into that, Mr Cargrim,' said Mrs Pansey, with a
sniff.

'Oh, Mr Jentham's honest, I'm sure, mum. He's bin at the gold diggin's
and 'ave made a trifle of money. Indeed, I don't know where he ain't
been, sir. The four pints of the compass is all plain sailing to 'im;
and his 'airbreadth escapes is too h'awful. I shivers and shudders when
I 'ears 'em.'

'What is he doing here?'

'He's on business; but I don't know what kind. Oh, he knows 'ow to 'old
'is tongue, does Jentham.'

'He is a gipsy, he consorts with gipsies, he has money, and no one knows
where he comes from,' summed up Cargrim. 'I think, Mrs Pansey, we may
regard this man as a dangerous character.'

'I shouldn't be surprised to hear he was