“My bag!” said the young man.
“Well, there it is,” said Oscar. “In this house we are not thieves.”
The young man took up the bag, and for a moment the two of them looked at each other.
“So was I a fine fellow when I was young,” thought Oscar. Aloud he said, with a sort of mildness: “Too bad that that dumb one didn’t keep you your room! If you had come to me, it would have been different.”
“A nice thing for me!” said the young man. “A night like this—and I gave up my old room. A fellow I know told me to come here—name of Nielsen.”
“Nielsen?” repeated Oscar, staring thoughtfully at him. “Well, maybe I find something. One room I have, but that’s not for a young fellow like you—a fine room, with a piano in it. Maybe I let you have that room for one night at the price of the other, because that dumb one—”
“Oh, I’ll pay you for your fine room with a piano!” interrupted the young man. “You can charge what you like—I don’t care!”
Oscar Anders accepted the challenge.
“Pay nothing at all—I don’t care!” he said.
He threw open the door of the fine room, the front parlor, and lit the gas.