im out in the street. "I've got sons of
my own, Mr Careless, I've got sons of my own."... She is sure she
always does her best to make her boarders comfortable, and if they want
anything they've only got to ask for it. The kettle is always on the
stove if you want a cup of tea, and if you come home late at night and
want a bit of supper you've only got to go to the safe (which of us
would dare?). She never locks it, she never did.... And then she begins
about her wonderful kids, and it goes on hour after hour. Lord! it's
enough to drive a man mad.

We were recommended to this place on the day of our arrival by a young
dealer in the furniture line, whose name was Moses--and he looked like
it, but we didn't think of that at the time. He had Mrs Jones's card in
his window, and he left the shop in charge of his missus and came round
with us at once. He assured us that we couldn't do better than stay with
her. He said she was a most respectable lady, and all her boarders were
decent young fellows-gentlemen; she kept everything scrupulously clean,
and kept the best table in town, and she'd do for us (washing included)
for eighteen shillings per week; she generally took the first week in
advance. We asked him to have a beer--for the want of somebody else to
ask--and after that he said that Mrs Jones was a kind, motherly body,
and understood young fellows; and that we'd be even more comfortable
than in our own home; that we'd be allowed to do as we liked--she wasn't
particular; she wouldn't mind it a bit if we came home late once in
a way--she was used to that, in fact; she liked to see young fellows
enjoying themselves. We afterwards found out that he got so much
on every boarder he captured. We also found out--after paying in
advance---that her gentlemen generally sent out their white things to be
done; she only did the coloured things, so we had to pay a couple of bob
extra a week to have our "biled" rags and collars sent out and done; and
after the first week they bore sad evidence of having been done on the
premises by one of the frowsy daughters. But we paid all the same. And,
good Lord! if she keeps the best table in town, we are curious to see
the worst. When you go down to breakfast you find on the table in front
of your chair a cold plate, with a black something--God knows what it
looks like--in the centre of it. It eats like something scraped off the
inside of a hide and burnt; and with this you have a cup of warm gre