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 scuttle forth from the opposite doorway with all the appearance of a panic-stricken, but aromatic, hen.

Mr. Gedge-Tomkins stood, four-square and dreadful, in the doorway from which she had fluttered. His large face was flushed; and his eyes glowed with a volcanic indignation.

"Go!" he bellowed in a terrible voice. "My weekly bill has gone up seven shillings! My rooms are filthy! You have stolen half my underlinen! You have not only stolen my whisky, but you have watered what you left—watered it—watered it! Go! and never come near the place again." "I wants a week's wages instead of notice. I knows my rights," cried Mrs. Meeken, quavering, but shrill.

"Not a penny! Not a penny! Go, or I'll throw you down the stairs," bellowed Mr. Gedge-Tomkins, with a quite extraordinary air of meaning what he said.

He was plainly past the chivalrous stage; and Mrs. Meeken did not wait She shuffled down the stairs as fast as her feet could slop—there is no other word for their curious action. As she went her voice rose in shrill lamentation: this was what