lf? Who is it?"

"Well, what's wrong about me?"

"I beg your pardon," said Mr. Peter Hope.

"Why won't I do? I can make beds and clean rooms--all that sort o'
thing. As for cooking, I've got a natural aptitude for it. You ask
Emma; she'll tell you. You don't want nothing 'laborate?"

"Elizabeth," said Mr. Peter Hope, as he crossed and, taking up the poker,
proceeded to stir the fire, "are we awake or asleep?"

Elizabeth thus appealed to, raised herself on her hind legs and dug her
claws into her master's thigh. Mr. Hope's trousers being thin, it was
the most practical answer she could have given him.

"Done a lot of looking after other people for their benefit," continued
Tommy. "Don't see why I shouldn't do it for my own."

"My dear--I do wish I knew whether you were a boy or a girl. Do you
seriously suggest that I should engage you as my housekeeper?" asked Mr.
Peter Hope, now upright with his back to the fire.

"I'd do for you all right," persisted Tommy. "You give me my grub and a
shake-down and, say, sixpence a week, and I'll grumble less than most of
'em."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Mr. Peter Hope.

"You won't try me?"

"Of course not; you must be mad."

"All right. No harm done." The dirty hand reached out towards the desk,
and possessing itself again of Hammond's Bill of Fare, commenced the
operations necessary for bearing it away in safety.

"Here's a shilling for you," said Mr. Peter Hope.

"Rather not," said Tommy. "Thanks all the same."

"Nonsense!" said Mr. Peter Hope.

"Rather not," repeated Tommy. "Never know where that sort of thing may
lead you to."

"All right," said Mr. Peter Hope, replacing the coin in his pocket.
"Don't!"

The figure moved towards the door.

"Wait a minute. Wait a minute," said Mr. Peter Hope irritably.

The figure, with its hand upon the door, stood still.

"Are you going back to Hammond's?"

"No. I've finished there. Only took me on for a couple o' weeks, while
one of the gals was ill. She came back this morning."

"Who are your people?"

Tommy seemed puzzled. "What d'ye mean?"

"Well, whom do you live with?"

"Nobody."

"You've got nobody to look after you--to take care of you?"

"Take care of me! D'ye think I'm a bloomin' kid?"

"Then where are you going to now?"

"Going? Out."

Peter Hope's irritation was growing.

"I mean, where are you going to sleep? Got any money for a lodging?"

"Yes, I've got some money,"