Tom stopped, glad of an excuse.
“What are you doing ridin’ in a carriage as if you was a gentleman?” she said to Max, who cowered as if afraid of bodily harm.
“Taking me for a little change of air,” Paul answered for him, trying to laugh, but failing dismally.
“Not to the lock-up! He shall not go there,” Miss Hansford continued.
“Them’s my orders,” Max said timidly.
“D—— the orders!” Tom muttered under his breath, while Paul rejoined, “I can stand it awhile. It can’t be for long. Drive on, Tom, let’s see what the accommodations are.”
They were worse than anyone of the party anticipated. One or two men arrested for incendiarism and a few tramps were all who had occupied the place for a long time. No one had been in it for months. Consequently but little attention had been paid to it and the room was close and damp.
“Smells enough to knock you down,” Miss Hansford said, holding her nose as she put her head inside the door, which had been unlocked by an official waiting for the party.
Hundreds of spiders’ webs filled with dead flies festooned the walls and the small barred windows. The floor was littered with sticks and shavings and stained with tobacco juice.
Miss Hansford held her skirts high as he stepped into the room, and taking up the pillow from the bunk pronounced it “hen’s feathers and bad ones at that.”