fe. It puts my teeth on edge."

"So it does mine," said Mr. Nugent, "but there's a black currant down
there, and I mean to have it. 'Waste not, want not.'"

"Make him put that knife down," said Miss Kybird, as her mother entered
the room. Mrs. Kybird shook her head at him. "You two are always
quarrelling," she said, archly, "just like a couple of--couple of----"

"Love-birds," suggested Mr. Nugent.

Mrs. Kybird in great glee squeezed round to him and smote him playfully
with her large, fat hand, and then, being somewhat out of breath with the
exertion, sat down to enjoy the jest in comfort.

"That's how you encourage him," said her daughter; "no wonder he doesn't
behave. No wonder he acts as if the whole place belongs to him."

The remark was certainly descriptive of Mr. Nugent's behaviour. His easy
assurance and affability had already made him a prime favourite with Mrs.
Kybird, and had not been without its effect upon her daughter. The
constrained and severe company manners of Mr. Edward Silk showed up but
poorly beside those of the paying guest, and Miss Kybird had on several
occasions drawn comparisons which would have rendered both gentlemen
uneasy if they had known of them.

Mr. Nugent carried the same easy good-fellowship with him the following
week when, neatly attired in a second-hand suit from Mr. Kybird's
extensive stock, he paid a visit to Jem Hardy to talk over old times and
discuss the future.

"You ought to make friends with your father," said the latter; "it only
wants a little common sense and mutual forbearance."

"That's all," said Nugent; "sounds easy enough, doesn't it? No, all he
wants is for me to clear out of Sunwich, and I'm not going to--until it
pleases me, at any rate. It's poison to him for me to be living at the
Kybirds' and pushing a trolley down on the quay. Talk about love
sweetening toil, that does."

Hardy changed the subject, and Nugent, nothing loath, discoursed on his
wanderings and took him on a personally conducted tour through the
continent of Australia. "And I've come back to lay my bones in Sunwich
Churchyard," he concluded, pathetically; "that is, when I've done with
'em."

"A lot of things'll happen before then," said Hardy.

"I hope so," rejoined Mr. Nugent, piously; "my desire is to be buried by
my weeping great-grandchildren. In fact, I've left instructions to that
effect in my will--all I have left, by the way."

"You're not going to keep on at