“If I had had the sense to write to this good woman, and named the day I was to come back, she would have had everything ready for me, fire made and room aired,” he said to himself, as he raised the window looking out on the bay, and went to the cupboard, from the floor of which he got some waste paper and kindlings, which he piled on the cold hearth, and lighted from the candle Annie had given him with the key.
He had soon a bright blaze without a hot fire.
And between the open window and the blazing hearth the atmosphere of the room was soon improved.
Then, about midnight, he retired to bed. But he was an uneasy sleeper, and had been so ever since that fatal fifteenth of September, when he fell under the power of the tempter and descended into the inferno.
He passed a restless night, and with the earliest dawn of day he arose and dressed himself, went out to buy his breakfast, came in in a few minutes, kindled his fire, made his coffee and cooked his chops.
When he had eaten his meal and set his room in order, he took his hat and set out to see Adler, and find out what was his chance of getting work.
It was still very early in the morning; the sun but newly risen.
He found Adler at breakfast, surrounded by his family.
They all started up from the table to welcome their returned friend.
Adler pressed him to join them at the meal; but Harcourt thanked him, and declined upon the reasonable ground that he had just finished his own breakfast.