imself much about this
vulgar, irreverent little boy, who was probably put in, as they put in a
little watch-dog, to see to the place until he and his staff of
assistants rendered his further presence unnecessary. But it did chill
him to find that after his long journey, and his farewell to his own
home, no one should think it worth while to be here to meet him and
install him with common friendliness into his new quarters. However,
Mr Medlock was a man of business, and was possibly prevented by
circumstances over which he had no control from being present to receive
him.

"Where's the housekeeper?" demanded he, putting down his bag and
relieving himself of his overcoat.

"'Ousekeeper! Oh yus," said the boy, with a snigger; "no 'ousekeepers
'ere."

"Where are my rooms, then?" asked Reginald, beginning to think it a pity
the Corporation had brought him down all that way before they were ready
for him.

"Ain't this room big enough for yer?" said the boy; "ain't no more 'sep'
your bedroom--no droring-rooms in this shop."

"Show me the bedroom," said Reginald.

The boy shuffled to the door and up another flight of stairs, at the
head of which he opened the door of a very small room, about the size of
one of the Wilderham studies, with just room to squeeze round a low iron
bedstead without scraping the wall.

"There you are--clean and haired and no error. I've slep' in it
myself."

Reginald motioned him from the room, and then sitting down on the bed,
looked round him.

He could not understand it. Any common butcher's boy would be better
put up. A little box of a bedroom like this, with no better testimonial
to its cleanliness and airiness than could be derived from the fact that
the dirty little watch-dog downstairs had occupied it! And in place of
a parlour that bare gaunt room below in which to sit of an evening and
take his meals and enjoy himself. Why ever had the Corporation not had
the ordinary decency to have his permanent accommodation ready for him
before he arrived?

He washed himself as well as he could without soap and towel, and
returned to the first floor, where he found the boy back on his old
stool, and once more absorbed in his paper.

The reader looked up as Reginald entered.

"Say, what's yer name," said he, "ever read _Tim Tigerskin_?"

"No, I've not," replied Reginald, staring at his questioner, and
wondering whether he was as erratic in his intellect as he was mealy in
his co