in the front balcony cleaning the
drawing-room windows, he called out to a gentleman on the opposite side
of the way, who used to live here--"Ah! Mr. Calton, sir, how are you?"'
Here the attendant laughed till Mrs. Bloss was in serious apprehension of
her chuckling herself into a fit.

'Well, I never!' said Mrs. Bloss.

'Yes. And please, ma'am, the servants gives him gin-and-water sometimes;
and then he cries, and says he hates his wife and the boarders, and wants
to tickle them.'

'Tickle the boarders!' exclaimed Mrs. Bloss, seriously alarmed.

'No, ma'am, not the boarders, the servants.'

'Oh, is that all!' said Mrs. Bloss, quite satisfied.

'He wanted to kiss me as I came up the kitchen-stairs, just now,' said
Agnes, indignantly; 'but I gave it him--a little wretch!'

This intelligence was but too true. A long course of snubbing and
neglect; his days spent in the kitchen, and his nights in the turn-up
bedstead, had completely broken the little spirit that the unfortunate
volunteer had ever possessed. He had no one to whom he could detail his
injuries but the servants, and they were almost of necessity his chosen
confidants. It is no less strange than true, however, that the little
weaknesses which he had incurred, most probably during his military
career, seemed to increase as his comforts diminished. He was actually a
sort of journeyman Giovanni of the basement story.

The next morning, being Sunday, breakfast was laid in the front parlour
at ten o'clock. Nine was the usual time, but the family always
breakfasted an hour later on sabbath. Tibbs enrobed himself in his
Sunday costume--a black coat, and exceedingly short, thin trousers; with
a very large white waistcoat, white stockings and cravat, and Blucher
boots--and mounted to the parlour aforesaid. Nobody had come down, and
he amused himself by drinking the contents of the milkpot with a
teaspoon.

A pair of slippers were heard descending the stairs. Tibbs flew to a
chair; and a stern-looking man, of about fifty, with very little hair on
his head, and a Sunday paper in his hand, entered the room.

'Good morning, Mr. Evenson,' said Tibbs, very humbly, with something
between a nod and a bow.

'How do you do, Mr. Tibbs?' replied he of the slippers, as he sat himself
down, and began to read his paper without saying another word.

'Is Mr. Wisbottle in town to-day, do you know, sir?' inquired Tibbs, just
for the sake of saying something.

'I s