near the fire-escape—and consisted of a little half-blind entry where you could see hardly anything, a little stone-blind pantry where you could see nothing at all, a sitting-room, and a bed-room. The furniture was rather faded, but quite good enough for me; and, sure enough, the river was outside the windows.
As I was delighted with the place, my aunt and Mrs. Crupp withdrew into the pantry to discuss the terms, while I remained on the sitting-room sofa, hardly daring to think it possible that I could be destined to live in such a noble residence. After a single combat of some duration they returned, and I saw, to my joy, both in Mrs. Crupp’s countenance and in my aunt’s, that the deed was done.
“Is it the last occupant’s furniture?” inquired my aunt.
“Yes it is, ma’am,” said Mrs. Crupp.
“What’s become of him?” asked my aunt.
Mrs. Crupp was taken with a troublesome cough, in the midst of which she articulated with much difficulty. “He was took ill here, ma’am, and—ugh! ugh! ugh! dear me!—and he died.”
“Hey! What did he die of?” asked my aunt.
“Well, ma’am, he died of drink,” said Mrs. Crupp in confidence. “And smoke.”
“Smoke? You don’t mean chimneys?” said my aunt.
“No, ma’am,” returned Mrs. Crupp. “Cigars and pipes.”