The man with the lamp went swiftly up a flight of uncarpeted stairs, with the stranger at his heels. He entered a bedroom; and the stranger was still with him. He dropped the blanket and dressed with amazing speed.
“You won’t be in time to save it,” said the stranger. “The whole ground floor is a-fire and roaring. A chemical engine couldn’t save it now.”
“Save it! I don’t want to save nothin’. I want to watch it burn. But say—did you hear anything about Joe? Did Joe git out?”
“Yes, I got Joe out myself—unconscious. And the old man, too—but he was all right.”
“The old man! You went an’ got him out? Hell! Say, it’s easy to see you’re a stranger round these parts, mister. Well, I’m goin’, anyhow. Maybe I’ll git a chance to push him back into it.”
“But what about a room for me?”
“A room? Sure you can have a room. You’ll find plenty right on this floor. Help yerself. Here, you can have the lamp. See you later.”
He thrust the lamp into the other’s hand, fumbled his way down the dark stairs, and dashed from the house.
The first room into which the stranger looked, shading the lamp with his left hand, was already occupied by someone who snored in a high and rasping key; the second was occupied by someone who instantly inquired “Who’s that?” in a feminine voice; but the third was empty. It was also cold and large and dreary. He examined it carefully by the feeble light of the smoky little lamp, and came to the conclusion that it was a room of state, a chamber of pride. There were white curtains looped at the windows, with dust in their chilly folds. There was a carpet on the floor with a design in yellow and red which seemed to jump up at you and wriggle. There were several chairs of several designs and shapes, all upholstered in wine-red plush. There was a small center-table with a marble top and walnut legs, and on it stood a tall vase full of dusty paper flowers. There were several framed pictures on the walls. There was a bed with a high headboard of glistening yellow wood. There was a little open-faced stove of iron and nickel. Its open face was filled by a large, dusty fan of pea-green paper. Beside it stood a dusty basket full of short, dusty sticks of rock-maple.
The stranger set the lamp on the center-table, lowered his pack and snowshoes to the carpet, cast off his mittens and muffler and cap and went over and gave the bed a second and closer inspection. He removed the lace-edged pillow sham, which was coated with dust. He shook up the pillows and turned them over, then opened up the bedding for inspection and airing. Returning to the stove, he started a fire with the help of the paper fan and paper flowers. The dry maple caught and flamed as if by magic. He discarded several outer articles of clothing, pulled one of the fat chairs up to the stove, and slumped into it; filled and lit his pipe. And thus the tall man with the stoop found him half an hour later.