Wint, left alone, stood still where he was for a time; then he stirred himself and began to prepare for bed. He moved slowly, indolently. Stripped off coat and collar, sat down to unlace his shoes. After a while, he crossed and opened the window. He felt, somehow, infinitely cleaner, healthier, since he had put Jack Routt out of his life. He felt as though he had washed smears of grime from his hands.
Yet there was a certain loneliness upon him, too; for he had lost one whom he had counted a friend.
After a while, he went to bed and slept peacefully enough till dawn.
CHAPTER II
A BRIGHTER CHAPTER
THE crowded events of the evening before had wearied Wint more than he knew; his sleep was dreamless and profound, and he might not have waked till midday if it had not been for Muldoon. The dog slept beside Wint’s bed; but at the first glint of day, it became restless; and when the sun rose, Muldoon got up and walked stiffly across to the open window and propped his feet on the sill and looked out. The slight sound of his nails on the bare floor disturbed Wint, and he turned in his sleep; and Muldoon came back to the bed to see what was the matter. Wint’s arm was hanging over the side of the bed, and Muldoon licked his master’s hand. Which woke Wint effectually enough.
He opened his eyes, and at first he could not remember where he was. The dingy room.... He stared up at the cracked and broken ceiling. At one place, a patch of plaster had fallen, leaving the laths bare. It took Wint some little time to recognize his surroundings. But at last he remembered. He sat up on the edge of the bed, rumpling Muldoon’s ears with his right hand, and looked around.
The room contained, besides the bed, a chair and a wardrobe. His clothes were on the chair. The sagging doors of the wardrobe hung open. There was nothing inside the decrepit thing. His eyes wandered toward the mantel. The cracked old mirror still hung there. His eyes fell to the floor, and he marked the charred place near the hearth, burned there that night of his election when at sight of his own image in the mirror he had smashed the lamp in a fury of shame. He remembered that night, now, and he smiled a little whimsically. It seemed his fortunes were always to be bound up with this dingy room.
Muldoon, disturbed by Wint’s long silence, looked up at his master, and barked, under his breath, uneasily. Wint took the dog’s head in both his hands and shook it gently back and forth. “What’s the matter, pup?” he asked affectionately. “What’s on your mind? What are you fussing about, anyhow? What have you got to fuss about, I’d like to know? Come.”
Muldoon twisted himself free, and he snarled. It was a part of the game. Then he flung himself forward and pinned Wint’s right hand and held it, growling. Wint took him by the scruff of the neck and lifted the dog into his lap; and Muldoon’s solid body accommodated itself to Wint’s knees and he lay there, perfectly contented.
“You stuck around, didn’t you, boy?” Wint asked, his voice a little wistful. “The rest of them didn’t give a hoot for Wint; but you stuck around. Eh? The rest of them didn’t care. ‘Get out. Good enough for him.’ That’s what they’d say. But not you, eh, Muldoon? You stuck. Even Jack Routt. Even Jack came only to offer me booze. And the rest of them didn’t come at all. Only you, pup. You and I, now. But we’ll show them some things. Eh?”