Next him was stretched a man who was deserving still more pity, since his misfortunes sprang rather from a want of judgment than from his own fault. He was a scholar, with a fair knowledge of Latin and Greek, and some ability as a writer. He was an Englishman who had come to the city in the hope of making his acquisitions available, but had met with very poor encouragement. He found that both among teachers and writers the demand exceeded the supply, at least for those of moderate qualifications; and, having no influential friends, had sought for employment almost in vain. His small stock of money dwindled, his suit became shabby, until he found himself, to his deep mortification and disgust, compelled to resort to such lodging-houses as this, where he was obliged to herd with the lowest and most abandoned class.
Next to him lay a mechanic, once in profitable employment. But drink had been his ruin; and now he was a vagabond, spending the little money he earned, at rum-shops, except what was absolutely necessary for food.
There is no need of cataloguing the remainder of Meg Morely’s lodgers. Her low rates generally secured her a room-full, and a dozen, sometimes more, were usually packed away on the floor. On the whole she found it a paying business, though her charges were low. Sixty cents a day was quite a respectable addition to her income, and she had occupied the same place for two years already. Tom’s experience will show that she had other, and not quite so lawful, ways of swelling her receipts, but she was cautious not to put them in practice, unless she considered it prudent, as in the present instance.
It was seven o’clock when Tom awoke. She looked around her in bewilderment, thinking at first she must be in granny’s room. But a glance at the prostrate forms around her brought back the events of the day before, and gave her a realizing sense of her present situation.
“I’ve had a good sleep,” said Tom to herself, stretching, by way of relief from her constrained position. “I guess it’s time to get up.”
She rubbed her eyes, and shook back her hair, and then rising, went into the front room. Her landlady was already up and getting breakfast.
“What time is it?” asked Tom.
“It’s just gone seven,” said Meg, looking sharply at Tom to see if she had discovered the loss of her money. “How did you sleep?”
“Tip-top.”
“Come ag’in.”