'I can stay here quite well.

I dare say you'll not be away long.' This was worse still; it held out no hope of getting rid of him.

Jawleyford therefore resolved to try and smoke and starve him out.

When our friend went to dress, he found his old apartment, the state-room, put away, the heavy brocade curtains brown-hollanded, the jugs turned upside down, the bed stripped of its clothes and the looking-glass laid a-top of it.
The smirking housemaid, who was just rolling the fire-irons up in the hearth-rug, greeted him with a 'Please, sir, we've shifted you into the brown room, east,' leading the way to the condemned cell that 'Jack' had occupied, where a newly lit fire was puffing out dense clouds of brown smoke, obscuring even the gilt letters on the back of _Mogg's Cab Fares_, as the little volume lay on the toilet-table.
'What's happened now ?' asked our friend of the maid, putting his arm round her waist, and giving her a hearty squeeze.

'What's happened now, that you've put me into this dog-hole ?' asked he.
'Oh! I don't know,' replied she, laughing; 'I s'pose they're afraid you'll bring the old rotten curtains down in the other room with smokin'.