'ome?" he asked of Mrs Butt, in a gruff, hoarse
voice, as if still engaged in a struggle with a bad cold.

"What gentleman?" asked Mrs Butt eyeing him suspiciously.

"W'y, the gen'leman as sent for me to give 'im boxin' lessons--Buck or
Book, or some sitch name."

"Brooke, you mean," said Mrs Butt still suspicious, and interposing her
solid person in the doorway.

"Ay, that's the cove--the gen'leman I mean came here this arternoon to
lodge wi' a Missis Butt or Brute, or suthin' o' that sort--air you Mrs
Brute?"

"_Certainly_ not," answered the landlady, with indignation; "but I'm
Mrs Butt."

"Well, it's all the same. I ax yer parding for the mistake, but there's
sitch a mixin' up o' Brutes an' Brookes, an' Butts an' Bucks, that it
comes hard o' a man o' no edication to speak of to take it all in. This
gen'leman, Mr Brute, 'e said if 'e was hout w'en I called I was to
wait, an' say you was to make tea for two, an' 'ave it laid in the
bedroom as 'e'd require the parlour for the mill."

The man's evident knowledge of her lodger's affairs, and his gross
stupidity, disarmed Mrs Butt. She would have laughed at his last
speech if it had not been for the astounding conclusion. Tea in the
bedroom and a mill in the parlour the first night was a degree of
eccentricity she had not even conceived of.

"Come in, then, young man," she said, making way. "You'll find Mr
Brooke in the parlour at his tea."

The prize-fighter stepped quickly along the dark passage into the
parlour, and while the somewhat sluggish Mrs Butt was closing the door
she overheard her lodger exclaim--

"Ha! Jem Mace, this is good of you--very good of you--to come so
promptly. Mrs Butt," shouting at the parlour door, "another cup and
plate for Mr Mace, and--and bring the _ham_!"

"The 'am!" repeated Mrs Butt softly to herself, as she gazed in
perplexity round her little kitchen, "_did_ 'e order a 'am?"

Unable to solve the riddle she gave it up and carried in the cup and
saucer and plate.

"I beg your parding, sir, you mentioned a 'am," she began, but stopped
abruptly on seeing no one there but the prize-fighter standing before
the fire in a free-and-easy manner with his hands in his breeches
pockets.

The light of the street-lamps had very imperfectly revealed the person
of Jem Mace. Now that Mrs Butt saw him slouching in all his native
hideousness against her mantelpiece in the full blaze of a paraffin
lamp, she inwardly congratulated h