'Captain Huston living here?' inquired Trist.
'Yess'r. Er you the doctor?'
The war-correspondent hesitated for a moment. Then he stepped into the narrow hall.
'Yes,' he said.
''E's got it bad this time, sir,' volunteered the waiter, with melancholy effusion.
'What?'
'D. T., sir.'
Trist nodded his head shortly, and laid aside his hat.
'Take me to his room, please,' he said.
The waiter shuffled on in front, and the young fellow followed him up the dingy stairs, walking lightly where the polished knots of pinewood peeped through the clammy oilcloth.