and the pick of about six thin slices of stale bread―evidently cut the day before yesterday. This is the way Mrs. Jones 'does' for us for eighteen shillings a week. The bread gave out at tea time this evening, and a mild financial boarder tapped his plate with his knife, and sent the bread plate out to be replenished. It came back with one slice on it.
The mild financial boarder, with desperate courage, is telling the landlady that he'll have to shift next week―it is too far to go to work, he cannot always get down in time; he is very sorry he has to go, he says; he is very comfortable here, but it can't be helped; anyway, as soon as he can get work nearer, he'll come back at once; also (oh, what cowards men are when women are concerned), he says he wishes she could shift and take a house down at the other end of the town. She says (at least here are some fragments of her gabble which we caught and shorthanded): 'Well, I'm very sorry to lose you, Mr. Sampson, very sorry indeed; but of course if you must go you must. Of course you can't be expected to walk that distance every morning, and you mustn't be getting to work late, and losing your place…Of course we could get breakfast an hour earlier if…well, as I said before, I'm sorry to lose you and, indeed…You won't forget to come and see us…glad to see you at any time…Well, anyway, if you ever want to come back, you know, your bed will be always ready for you, and you'll be treated just the same, and made just as comfortable―you won't forget that' (he says he won't); 'and you won't forget to come to dinner sometimes' (he says he won't); and,
