[CHAPTER XIII]
FAIRVIEW SENDS A PROTEST
There were two occupants of the room. One, presently identified as Johnny Sanger, was seated in an easy chair, a book in his lap and his slippered feet on the edge of the study table. He was a rather large youth of sixteen years, with a somewhat flat face, prominent brown eyes, a large mouth, and hair of a coppery brown. At the other side of the table sat Shill, tall, narrow, dark-complexioned, and black-haired. Both boys looked surprised when they saw who their visitors were, and as Sanger dropped his feet to the floor and got out of his chair, his expression did not suggest overwhelming delight. Introductions were quickly effected, and the three visitors found seats.
The room, which was poorly lighted by a student’s lamp, was larger than appeared from outside, and although the ceiling sloped down on either side to within four feet of the floor, there was a good deal of room there. Two cot beds occupied one end of the room, a washstand was tucked under a dormer window, there was a study table, several chairs, two trunks and a bookcase, and although everything looked very cheap, there was an air of hominess about the place that the visitors found pleasant.
“I hear you fellows have got to move,” said Bert presently.
“Yes, hang it all!” answered Sanger. “Just when you find a nice place something goes and happens!”
“When do you go?” Harry inquired politely.
“Last of next week,” said Sanger. His roommate was not communicative, but contented himself with observing the callers through his glasses with evident curiosity.
“Found a place yet?” Bert asked.
“Haven’t looked. Haven’t had time. Mrs. Wagner—she’s the woman we rent this of—wants us to go with her. She’s taken some sort of a house across the railroad. But that would be too far to walk. Besides, she doesn’t half look after things. She’s away all day working in the laundry. Say, you’d throw a fit if you looked under the beds and saw the dust there. She makes me tired. Whenever we kick she says she hasn’t time, and begins a long song-and-dance about being a poor widow. Hang it, I like things clean, I do!”
“So do I,” said Harry cordially. “And look here, if you want a good room where things will be kept spick and span all the time, I can tell you where to look for it.”