"Follow me," he said to Ben. "Take hold of the banister, and feel your way. I am generally the last in," he said, "unless some one of my fellow-lodgers is out having a good time. One more flight of stairs. So, here we are."
The rear room on the third floor was his. Opening a door, he quickly lighted a gas-jet on one side of the room.
"There, my young friend," said the reporter, "you can undress as soon as you please, and jump into that bed nearest the window. It isn't luxurious, but will serve your turn."
"Thank you," said Ben. "I feel very tired. I shan't lie awake long to consider what kind of a bed I am in. Do you get up early?"
"Sometimes I get up as early as nine o'clock."
Ben laughed.
"Do you call that early?" he said. "Six o'clock isn't extra early in the country."
"My young friend—by the way, what's your name?"
"Ben Baker."
"Well, Ben, let me tell you that nine o'clock is a very early hour for a reporter. We'll rise at nine, and go out to breakfast together."