"Set me down at a boarding-house, if you know of a good one." For Salmon could not afford to go to a hotel.
"What sort of a boarding-house? I know of a good many. Some 's right smart,—'ristocratic, and 'ristocratic prices. Then there's some good enough in every way, only not quite so smart,—and with this advantage, you don't have the smartness to pay for."
"I prefer to go to a good house, where there are nice people, without too much smartness to be put into the bill."
"I know jest the kind of place, I reckon!"—and the driver whipped up his jaded horses.
He drew up before a respectable-looking wooden tenement on Pennsylvania Avenue, the windows of which, just lighted up, looked warm and inviting to the chilled and weary traveller.
"Good evening, Mrs. Markham!" said the driver to a kindly-looking lady who came to the door at his knock. "Got room for a boarder?"
"I don't know, I'm sure. I'm afraid not," said the lady, loud enough for Salmon to hear and be discouraged. "There's only half a room unoccupied,—if he would be content with that, and if he's the right sort of person"—
Here she said something in a whisper to the driver, who apparently pointed out Salmon to her inspection.
But it was too dark for her to decide whether he would do to put into the room with Williams; so Salmon had to get down and show himself. She examined him, and he inquired her terms. They appeared mutually satisfied. Accordingly the driver received directions to deposit Salmon's baggage in the entry; and the hungry and benumbed young traveller had the comfort of feeling that he had reached a home.