It was just fading from the late twilight to the early shadows of evening when the cadaverous man turned the corner and headed toward Fourth Street. His shoulders were bent and his gait was shuffling; the thread gloves which he wore were broken in places here and there and the black coat was a trifle short in the sleeves.
But he attracted little or no attention, for in that neighborhood shabby characters were frequent enough. When once he got into his stride it was astonishing to see how he covered the ground, for all the shuffle. At Fourth Street and Corinth Avenue he halted and looked about.
It was now dark; the street lights were throwing their pale blue rays into the hidden corners of the dirty highways; upon stoop and cellar doors, throngs of soiled-looking men and women were congregated; hordes of children were all about, and their cries were shrill and incessant.
"Brekling?" said a man with a peddler's cart. "Oh, yes, his place is there on the corner."
A yellow gaslight burned dimly in the harness shop when the man in the worn top hat entered. There was a heavy smell of leather and oil; the floor was littered with scraps, and the broken parts of many sets of harness were stacked up in the rear. A small man with round spectacles and a dirty apron came forward; he had been reading a Polish newspaper under the dim light.
"Well, sir," said he, inquiringly, and with a marked accent, "what can I do for you this evening?"
"You have rooms to rent, I believe," said the other in a shaky sort of voice.
Instantly the small man was all attention. He put down his newspaper and beamed through his glasses at the stranger.
"I have one room," said he. "It is on the third floor, but it is a good room and well furnished. Will you look at it?"