adman, explaining as 'ow 'e wanted the thing settled and done with,
got me to sign a letter."

"Kept a copy of it?" asked the business-like Clodd.

"No. But I can remember what it was. Gladman 'ad it all ready. So long
as the money was paid punctual and 'e didn't make no disturbance and
didn't fall sick, I was to go on boarding and lodging 'im for seventeen-
and-sixpence a week. It didn't strike me as anything to be objected to
at the time; but 'e payin' regular, as I've explained to you, and
be'aving, so far as disturbance is concerned, more like a Christian
martyr than a man, well, it looks to me as if I'd got to live and die
with 'im."

"Give him rope, and possibly he'll have a week at being a howling hyaena,
or a laughing jackass, or something of that sort that will lead to a
disturbance," thought Mr. Clodd, "in which case, of course, you would
have your remedy."

"Yes," thought Mrs. Postwhistle, "and possibly also 'e may take it into
what 'e calls is 'ead to be a tiger or a bull, and then perhaps before
'e's through with it I'll be beyond the reach of remedies."

"Leave it to me," said Mr. Clodd, rising and searching for his hat. "I
know old Gladman; I'll have a talk with him."

"You might get a look at that letter if you can," suggested Mrs.
Postwhistle, "and tell me what you think about it. I don't want to spend
the rest of my days in a lunatic asylum of my own if I can 'elp it."

"You leave it to me," was Mr. Clodd's parting assurance.

The July moon had thrown a silver veil over the grimness of Rolls Court
when, five hours later, Mr. Clodd's nailed boots echoed again upon its
uneven pavement; but Mr. Clodd had no eye for moon or stars or such-like;
always he had things more important to think of.

"Seen the old 'umbug?" asked Mrs. Postwhistle, who was partial to the
air, leading the way into the parlour.

"First and foremost commenced," Mr. Clodd, as he laid aside his hat, "it
is quite understood that you really do want to get rid of him? What's
that?" demanded Mr. Clodd, a heavy thud upon the floor above having
caused him to start out of his chair.

"'E came in an hour after you'd gone," explained Mrs. Postwhistle,
"bringing with him a curtain pole as 'e'd picked up for a shilling in
Clare Market. 'E's rested one end upon the mantelpiece and tied the
other to the back of the easy-chair--'is idea is to twine 'imself round
it and go to sleep upon it. Yes, you've got it quite right without a