The sergeant went quickly down the street until he found No. 29. On arriving there, he stepped inside the lobby; and after ringing the bell marked 4, he put his ear to the tube beside it.
Presently he heard in Eugene’s clear voice, “Who is there?”
“Sergeant Hardy,” replied the man.
“Will you have the goodness to walk up?” said Eugene; and as he spoke he pressed a spring that made the entrance door fly open, and enabled the sergeant to enter, and mount the long flight of stairs.
At the top of the house he found himself in a narrow, uncarpeted hall, where a door stood wide open with Eugene beside it.
“How do you do?” said the boy gravely, extending his hand.
“I’m well,” said the sergeant; “and I’m sorry to hear of your trouble.”
Eugene bowed in his unchildish fashion, and led the way to a small, barely furnished parlor.
The sergeant put his helmet on the table, and sat down by a window, from which an extended view of distant hills could be had over the tops of far and near houses; while Eugene seated himself opposite, and stretching out his slender arms and legs, tried hard to fill the chair that had been a favorite one with his dead grandfather.