‘Lodgers? No, sir. There’s only one gentleman on my second floor. I have never laid myself out for families. Children are such mischievous young monkeys, and always tramping up and down stairs, or endangering their lives leaning out of winder, or leaving the street door open. And the damage they do the furniture! Well, nobody can understand that except them as have passed through the ordeal. No, sir, for the last six years I haven’t had a child across my threshold.’
‘I wasn’t inquiring about children,’ said Mr. Chicot; ‘I was asking about your upstairs lodger.’
‘He’s a single gentleman, sir.’
‘Young?’
‘No, sir; middle-aged.’
‘An actor?’
‘No, sir. He has nothing to do with the theatres.’
‘What is he?’
‘Well, sir, he is a gentleman—everyone can see that—but a gentleman as has run through his property. I should gather from his ways that he must have had a great deal of property, and that he’s run through most of it. He is not quite so regular in his payments as I could wish—but he does pay,—and he’s very little trouble, for he’s often away for a week at a time, the rent running on all the same, of course.’
‘That would hardly matter to him if he doesn’t pay it,’ said Chicot.