nion, who was red and perspiring. 'There's
something I should like to tell you before you go into that room.
I--it--the fact is, sir, that--temporarily--I am occupying it myself.'

'Oh, I beg your pardon, Mr. Spicer!'

'Not at all, sir! Don't mention it, sir. I have a reason--it seemed to
me--I've merely put in a bed and a table, sir, that's all--a temporary
arrangement.'

'Yes, yes; I quite understand. What could be more sensible? If the house
were mine, I should do the same. What's the good of owning a house, and
making no use of it?'

Great was Mr. Spicer's satisfaction.

'See what it is, sir,' he exclaimed, 'to have to do with a literary man!
You are large-minded, sir; you see things from an intellectual point of
view. I can't tell you how it gratifies me, sir, to have made your
acquaintance. Let us go into the back room.'

With nervous boldness he threw the door open. Goldthorpe, advancing
respectfully, saw that Mr. Spicer had not exaggerated the simplicity of his
arrangements. In a certain measure the room had been cleaned, but along the
angle of walls and ceiling there still clung a good many cobwebs, and the
state of the paper was deplorable. A blind hung at the window, but the
floor had no carpet. In one corner stood a little camp bed, neatly made for
the day; a table and a chair, of the cheapest species, occupied the middle
of the floor, and on the hearth was an oil cooking-stove.

'It's wonderful how little one really wants,' remarked Mr. Spicer, 'at all
events in weather such as this. I find that I get along here very well
indeed. The only expense I had was for the water-supply. And really, sir,
when one comes to think of it, the situation is pleasant. If one doesn't
mind loneliness--and it happens that I don't. I have my books, sir--'

He opened the door of a cupboard containing several shelves. The first
thing Goldthorpe's eye fell upon was the concertina; he saw also sundry
articles of clothing, neatly disposed, a little crockery, and, ranged on
the two top shelves, some thirty volumes, all of venerable aspect.

'Literature, sir,' pursued Mr. Spicer modestly, 'has always been my
comfort. I haven't had very much time for reading, but my motto, sir, has
been _nulla dies sine linea_.'

It appeared from his pronunciation that Mr. Spicer was no classical
scholar, but he uttered the Latin words with infinite gusto, and timidly
watched their effect upon the listener.

'This is delightful,' cried Mr.