te to so much as outline the preliminaries of my
great undertaking. "Use shall accustom me," I groaned. "I shall scarcely
notice it to-night."

And it was at this point that Miss Whiffle walked like a banshee into the
disturbed chambers of my life, and completed my demoralization.

I must premise that I am an exquisitively nervous man--one who would
accept almost ridiculous impositions if the alternative were a "scene."
Strangers, I fancy, are quick to detect the signs of this weakness in me;
but none before had ever ventured to take such outrageous advantage of
it as did Miss Whiffle, with the completest success.

This lady had secured me for a month. My rights extended over the
lantern-windowed sitting-room and the bedroom above it. They were to
include, moreover, board of a select quality.

"Select" represented Miss Whiffle's brazen mean of morality; and, indeed,
it is an elastic and accommodating word. One, for instance, may select an
aged gander for its wisdom, knowing that the youthful gosling is
proverbially "green." Miss Whiffle selected the aged gander for me, and I
gnawed its sinewy limbs without a protest. On a similar principle she
appeared to ransack the town shops for prehistoric joints (the locality
was rich in fossils), and vegetables that, like eggs, only grew harder
the more they were boiled.

I submitted, of course; and should have done no less by a landlady not so
obstreperously constituted. But this terrible person gauged and took me
in hand from the very morning following my arrival.

She came to receive my _orders_ after breakfast (tepid chicory and an
omelette like a fragment of scorched blanket) with her head wrapped up in
a towel. Thus habited she had the effrontery to trust the meal had been
to my liking. I gave myself away at once by weakly answering, "Oh,
certainly!"

"As to dinner, sir," she said faintly, "it is agreed, no kitching fire in
the hevening. That is understood."

I said, "Oh, certainly!" again.

"What I should recommend," she said--and she winced obtrusively at every
sixth word--"is an 'arty meal at one, and a light supper at height."

"That will suit me admirably," I said.

She tapped her fingers together indulgently.

"So I thought," she murmured. "Now, what do you fancy, sir?"

"Dear me!" I exclaimed, for her face was horribly contorted. "Are you in
pain?"

"Agonies!" said Miss Whiffle.

"Toothache?"

"Neuralgia, sir, for my sins."

"Is there--is there n