Sam opened the door with a latchkey, and led the way upstairs.

 

“Come up to my room, Joshua,” he said. “While you are fixing your hair, I’ll go down and let Mrs. Jones know you are here.”

 

Sam’s room was a hall bedroom on the third floor. It was barely large enough for a narrow bedstead, a trunk, a chair, and a washstand. There was no bureau, and no room for any; but in place, there were nails to hang his clothes upon just opposite the bed. It fell below Joshua’s anticipations¹, being quite inferior to the room he occupied at home. He had supposed that Sam, who had strutted² about Stapleton the summer before, was handsomely situated³. So it was with a feeling of disappointment that he regarded the small room, the thin, cheap carpet, the common wooden bedstead, and untidy washstand.

 

“It’s rather small,” said Sam, in a tone of apology, “but there’s a larger room on this floor. We will take it together. I’ll speak to Mrs. Jones about it. There’s a brush and comb; you can be fixing your hair, while I run down and see about a seat at the table for you.”

 

Joshua proceeded to arrange his toilet, while Sam did as proposed. He returned in a couple of minutes and announced his success.

 

“The old lady’ll be glad enough to take you,” he said. “We can have the other room. We’ll go into it after dinner.”

 

“After dinner?” repeated Joshua, who had been accustomed to regard the third meal as supper.

 

“Yes, we always have dinner at this hour,” explained Sam. “We never take supper except Sunday evening.”

 

“That seems strange, Sam.”

 

“Oh, you’ll get used to it very soon.”

 

“Don’t you eat anything in the middle of the day?”

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