m the same. He hate a sick house: but he pity a sick woman. Now, if I
can only please him, I can always look on him as half a Dolphin, to say
the least; and perhaps to-morrow I'll tell you who he is, and what, but
not to-night; for there's his supper to get over, and that, they say, can
be as bad as the busting of one of his own vats. Awful!'

'What does he eat?' said Mrs. Mel.

'A pair o' chops. That seem simple, now, don't it? And yet they chops
make my heart go pitty-pat.'

'The commonest things are the worst done,' said Mrs. Mel.

'It ain't that; but they must be done his particular way, do you see,
Mrs. Harrington. Laid close on the fire, he say, so as to keep in the
juice. But he ups and bounces in a minute at a speck o' black. So, one
thing or the other, there you are: no blacks, no juices, I say.'

'Toast the chops,' said Mrs. Mel.

The landlady of the Dolphin accepted this new idea with much
enlightenment, but ruefully declared that she was afraid to go against
his precise instructions. Mrs. Mel then folded her hands, and sat in
quiet reserve. She was one of those numerous women who always know
themselves to be right. She was also one of those very few whom
Providence favours by confounding dissentients. She was positive the
chops would be ill-cooked: but what could she do? She was not in command
here; so she waited serenely for the certain disasters to enthrone her.
Not that the matter of the chops occupied her mind particularly: nor
could she dream that the pair in question were destined to form a part of
her history, and divert the channel of her fortunes. Her thoughts were
about her own immediate work; and when the landlady rushed in with the
chops under a cover, and said: 'Look at 'em, dear Mrs. Harrington!' she
had forgotten that she was again to be proved right by the turn of
events.

'Oh, the chops!' she responded. 'Send them while they are hot.'

'Send 'em! Why you don't think I'd have risked their cooling? I have sent
'em; and what do he do but send 'em travelling back, and here they be;
and what objections his is I might study till I was blind, and I
shouldn't see 'em.'

'No; I suppose not,' said Mrs. Mel. 'He won't eat 'em?'

'Won't eat anything: but his bed-room candle immediately. And whether his
sheets are aired. And Mary says he sniffed at the chops; and that gal
really did expect he 'd fling them at her. I told you what he was. Oh,
dear!'

The bell was heard ringing in the midst of