It was no more than nine o’clock in the evening, or perhaps a little later, when Wint left his home. The day had been fine; the night was clear, and there was a moon. It was pleasant to be abroad on such a night. Wint took a leisurely course that brought him through the last fringes of houses above the railroad yards; and he followed the tag end of a street down the hill to the flats covered with slack and cinders. In the light of day, this was a hideous place, black and begrimed. But the moon could glorify even this. It painted blue shadows everywhere; it laid streaks of silver light along the rails; it touched a pool of water, a puddle here and there, and under the touch the water became quicksilver, alive and beautiful. A switching engine moved down the yard, and when the fire-man twitched open the door to replenish the fires, the glare shone in a pale glow upon his figure and back upon the tender. The long strings of cars, box cars with open doors, or coal cars loaded high, took on a beauty of their own in the night; and the winking switch lamps were like jewels, like rubies and emeralds shining in the moon.
He had to climb between two freight cars, on his way across the yard; and Muldoon scurried underneath them. Wint grimed his hands on the cars, and rubbed them together, cleansing them as well as he could, while he went on. He picked his way across the tracks, past the roundhouse where a locomotive slumbered hissingly, and on into the fringes of the locality where the Weaver House awaited him.
It is the custom in Hardiston that when the moon is full, be it cloudy or clear, the street lamps are not lighted. Thus the street along which Wint took his way was illuminated only by the moon. On either side, the dingy, squalid houses stood, with a flicker of light from one and another where those who dwelt within were still awake. A little later, he passed a store or two, and turned a corner, and so came to the hotel.
Something prompted him to stop outside and look in through the dirty window glass. It was so light outside, and the lamp inside furnished such a meager illumination, that Mrs. Moody saw him at the window; and she took him for some wandering ne’er-do-well, and came scolding to the door. “Be off,” she cried, before she saw who it was. “Get away from there.”
Muldoon snarled at her; and Wint said: “Quiet, boy,” and to the woman: “It’s me. Wint Chase.”
She came out and peered up at him; and he saw her horribly even teeth shine like silver between her cracked old lips. “You, is it?” she exclaimed aggressively. “Well, and you don’t need to come a-snooping around here. We’re lawful folks, here. And you know it. So you can just go along.”
He said: “I came for lodging;” and she backed away.
“Eh?” she asked.
“For lodging,” he repeated. “Can you give me a room?”
“What’s the matter with you, anyhow?” she demanded. “You had a fight with your paw again?” She was still aggressively and suspiciously on guard. He laughed, and said whimsically: