“Wa’al,” said Mr. Elright, looking at the clock, which showed the hour of half-past nine, and rubbing his chin perplexedly, “supper’s ben cleared off some time ago.”

“I don’t want very much,” said John; “just a bit of steak, and some stewed potatoes, and a couple of boiled eggs, and some coffee.”  He might have heard the sound of a slap in the direction of one of the sitters.

“I’m ’fraid I can’t ‘commodate ye fur’s the steak an’ things goes,” confessed the landlord.  “We don’t do much cookin’ after dinner, an’ I reckon the fire’s out anyway.  P’r’aps,” he added doubtfully, “I c’d hunt ye up a piece o’ pie ‘n some doughnuts, or somethin’ like that.”

He took a key, to which was attached a huge brass tag with serrated edges, from a hook on a board behind the bar—­on which were suspended a number of the like—­lighted a small kerosene lamp, carrying a single wick, and, shuffling out from behind the counter, said, “Say, Bill, can’t you an’ Dick carry the gentleman’s trunks up to ‘thirteen?’” and, as they assented, he gave the lamp and key to one of them and left the room.  The two men took a trunk at either end and mounted the stairs, John following, and when the second one came up he put his fingers into his waistcoat pocket suggestively.

“No,” said the one addressed as Dick, “that’s all right.  We done it to oblige Ame.”

“I’m very much obliged to you, though,” said John.

“Oh, that’s all right,” remarked Dick as they turned away.

John surveyed the apartment.  There were two small-paned windows overlooking the street, curtained with bright “Turkey-red” cotton; near to one of them a small wood stove and a wood box, containing some odds and ends of sticks and bits of bark; a small chest of drawers, serving as a washstand; a malicious little looking-glass; a basin and ewer, holding about two quarts; an earthenware mug and soap-dish, the latter containing a thin bit of red translucent soap scented with sassafras; an ordinary wooden chair and a rocking-chair with rockers of divergent aims; a yellow wooden bedstead furnished with a mattress of “excelsior” (calculated to induce early rising), a dingy white spread, a gray blanket of coarse wool, a pair of cotton sheets which had too obviously done duty since passing through the hands of the laundress, and a pair of flabby little pillows in the same state, in respect to their cases, as the sheets.  On the floor was a much used and faded ingrain carpet, in one place worn through by the edge of a loose board.  A narrow strip of unpainted pine nailed to the wall carried six or seven wooden pegs to serve as wardrobe.  Two diminutive towels with red borders hung on the rail of the washstand, and a battered tin slop jar, minus a cover, completed the inventory.