And I added that I hoped she understood that it had nothing to do with me; and she said that she was sure of that, but that she would speak to Tom about it when he came back.

My friend was detained in Liverpool longer than he expected; and three days later, as he hadn’t returned home, his wife called on me. She said:

‘What did Tom say about those cheeses?’

I replied that he had directed they were to be kept in a moist place, and that nobody was to touch them.

She said: ‘Nobody’s likely to touch them. Had he smelt them?’

I thought he had, and added that he seemed greatly attached to them.

‘You think he would be upset,’ she queried, ‘if I gave a man a sovereign to take them away and bury them?’

I answered that I thought he would never smile again.

An idea struck her. She said:

‘Do you mind keeping them for him? Let me send them round to you.’

‘Madam,’ I replied, ‘for myself I like the smell of cheese, and the journey the other day with them from Liverpool I shall ever look back upon as a happy ending to a pleasant holiday. But, in this world, we must consider others. The lady under whose roof I have the honour of residing is a widow, and, for all I know, possibly an orphan too. She has a strong, I may say an eloquent, objection to being what she terms “put upon.” The presence of your husband’s cheeses in her house she would, I instinctively feel, regard as a “put upon”; and it shall never be said that I put upon the widow and the orphan.’

‘Very well, then,’ said my friend’s wife, rising, ‘all I have to say is, that I shall take the children and go to an hotel until those cheeses are eaten. I decline to live any longer in the same house with them.’

She kept her word, leaving the place in charge of the charwoman, who, when asked if she could stand the smell, replied, ‘What smell?’ and who, when taken close to the cheeses and told to sniff hard, said she could detect a faint odour of melons. It was argued from this that little injury could result to the woman from the atmosphere, and she was left.

The hotel bill came to fifteen guineas; and my friend, after reckoning everything up, found that the cheeses had cost him eight-and-sixpence a pound. He said he dearly loved a bit of cheese, but it was beyond his means; so he determined to get rid of them. He threw them into the canal; but had to fish them out again, as the bargemen complained. They said it made them feel quite faint. And, after that, he took them one dark night and left them in the parish mortuary. But the coroner discovered them, and made a fearful fuss.

He said it was a plot to deprive him of his living by waking up the corpses.

My friend got rid of them, at last, by taking them down to a seaside town, and burying them on the beach. It gained the place quite a reputation. Visitors said they had never noticed before how strong the air was, and weak-chested and consumptive people used to throng there for years afterwards.

Fond as I am of cheese, therefore, I hold that George was right in declining to take any.

‘We shan’t want any tea,’ said George (Harris’s face fell at this); ‘but we’ll have a good round, square, slap-up meal at seven—dinner, tea, and supper combined.’