eats.  Every time I handed him anything I looked closeter and closeter.  Them whiskers never grooved on them cheeks, says I to myself.  Them ’s paper collars, says I. That dimun in your shirt-front hain’t got no life to it, says I. I don’t believe it’s nothiri’ more ‘n a bit o’ winderglass.  So says I to Pushee, ‘You jes’ step out and get the sheriff to come in and take a look at that chap.’  I knowed he was after a fellah.  He come right in, an’ he goes up to the chap.  ‘Why, Bill,’ says he, ’I’m mighty glad to see yer.  We’ve had the hole in the wall you got out of mended, and I want your company to come and look at the old place,’ says he, and he pulls out a couple of handcuffs and has ’em on his wrists in less than no time, an’ off they goes together!  I know one thing about that young gentleman, anyhow,—­there ain’t no better judge of what’s good eatin’ than he is.  I cooked him some maccaroni myself one day, and he sends word to me by that Mr. Paul, ‘Tell Miss Miranda,’ says he, I that the Pope o’ Rome don’t have no better cooked maccaroni than what she sent up to me yesterday,’ says he.  I don’ know much about the Pope o’ Rome except that he’s a Roman Catholic, and I don’ know who cooks for him, whether it’s a man or a woman; but when it comes to a dish o’ maccaroni, I ain’t afeard of their shefs, as they call ’em,—­them he-cooks that can’t serve up a cold potater without callin’ it by some name nobody can say after ’em.  But this gentleman knows good cookin’, and that’s as good a sign of a gentleman as I want to tell ’em by.”

VI

Still at fault.

The house in which Maurice Kirkwood had taken up his abode was not a very inviting one.  It was old, and had been left in a somewhat dilapidated and disorderly condition by the tenants who had lived in the part which Maurice now occupied.  They had piled their packing-boxes in the cellar, with broken chairs, broken china, and other household wrecks.  A cracked mirror lay on an old straw mattress, the contents of which were airing themselves through wide rips and rents.  A lame clothes-horse was saddled with an old rug fringed with a ragged border, out of which all the colors had been completely trodden.  No woman would have gone into a house in such a condition.  But the young man did not trouble himself much about such matters, and was satisfied when the rooms which were to be occupied by himself and his servant were made decent and tolerably comfortable.  During the fine season all this was not of much consequence, and if Maurice made up his mind to stay through the winter he would have his choice among many more eligible places.