True.  I was so engrossed by different plans of revenge, that I had not thought of going into the parlor or dining-room to sleep.  We moved to the parlor; Sophronia took the lounge, while I found the floor a little harder than I supposed an ex-soldier could ever find any plane surface.  It did not take me long, however, to learn that the parlor-floor was not a plane surface.  It contained a great many small elevations which kept me awake for the remainder of the night, wondering what they could be.  At early dawn I was as far from a satisfactory theory as ever, and I hastily loosened one end of the carpet and looked under.  The protuberances were knots in the flooring boards.  In the days when the sturdy patriots of New Jersey despised such monarchical luxuries as carpets, the soft portions of these boards had been slowly worn away, but the knots—­every one has heard the expression “as tough as a pine knot.”  Fortunately, we had indulged in a frightfully expensive rug, and upon this I sought and found a brief period of repose and forgetfulness.

While we were at the breakfast-table our girl appeared, with red eyes and a hoarse voice, and remarked that now she must leave; she had learned to like us, and she loved the country, but she had an aged parent whose sole support she was, and could not afford to risk her life in such a house.

“Let her go,” said Sophronia.  “If variety is the spice of life, why shouldn’t the rule apply to servants?”

“Perhaps it does, my dear,” I replied; “but if we have to pay each girl a month’s wages for two or three days of work, the spice will be more costly than enjoyable—­eh?”

Immediately after breakfast I sought the agent.  I supposed he would meet me with downcast eyes and averted head, but he did nothing of the kind; he extended his hand cordially, and said he was delighted to see me.

“That roof,” said I, getting promptly to business, “leaks—­well, it’s simply a sieve.  And you told me the house was dry.”

“So the owner told me, sir; of course you can’t expect us to inspect the hundreds of houses we handle in a year.”

“Well, however that may be, the owner is mistaken, and he must repair the roof at once.”

The agent looked thoughtful.  “If you had wished the landlord to make necessary repairs, you should have so stipulated in the lease.  The lease you have signed provides that all repairs shall be made at your own expense.”

“Did the landlord draw up the lease?” I asked, fixing my eye severely upon the agent’s liquid orbs.  But the agent met my gaze with defiance and an expression of injured dignity.

“I asked you whether you would have the usual form of lease,” said the agent, “and you replied, ‘Certainly.’”

I abruptly left the agent’s presence, went to a lumber yard near by, and asked where I could find the best carpenter in town.  He happened to be on the ground purchasing some lumber, and to him I made known my troubles, and begged him to hasten to my relief.  The carpenter was a man of great decision of character, and he replied promptly, ciphering on a card in the meantime: