"Drat the fleas, can't a mortal sleep in peace for them?"
"Madam," said the colonel, "how much is owing to you for sleeping here a few hours?"
"Lord bless me, sir, is this you? The poor soul has never so much as stirred. How my heart bleeds continually for him, to be sure. Ah, dear me, we are all born like sparks, and keep continually flying upward, as the psalm says."
"How much do I owe you?"
"Here to-day, and gone to-morrow. Bless his innocent face."
The colonel rung the bell, and a strapping footman made his appearance.
"You will see this woman to the door, John," he said, "and pay her for being here about three hours."
"Why, you mangy skin-flint," cried the woman. "What do you—"
She was cut short in her vituperative eloquence by John, who handed her down stairs with such dispatch that a pint bottle of gin rolled out of her pocket and was smashed, filling the house with an odour that was quite unmistakeable.
"What do you propose to do?" said the captain.