He took his hour through the clamor and the slime of the public ways. He escaped from these by his talismanic night-key, and stumbled up thoughtfully to his room.
There was a light burning in it, and the fireplace showed the faint red of dying coals. A valise, open and half unpacked, stood in the middle of the floor, and sitting up in bed was Brower, busy with the last volume of "Monte Cristo." They now occupied a large front room together, which Ogden had to himself a good half of the time.
"Back, are you?" said George. "When did you get in?"
"About seven."
"How's Missouri?"
"Weather good; eating bad."
"Heading all this time?"
"Went to theatre."
"What did you see?"
"'Crackling of Thorns.'"