He went off before Mr. Hatchard could recover, and the latter at once verified the information in part by walking round to his old house. Bits of straw and paper littered the front garden, the blinds were down, and a bill was pasted on the front parlor window. Aghast at such determination, he walked back to his lodgings in gloomy thought.
On Saturday afternoon he walked round to John Street, and from the corner of his eye, as he passed, stole a glance at No. 37. He recognized the curtains at once, and, seeing that there was nobody in the room, leaned over the palings and peered at a card that stood on the window-sash:
| FURNISHED APARTMENTS FOR SINGLE YOUNG MAN BOARD IF DESIRED. |
FURNISHED APARTMENTS FOR SINGLE YOUNG MAN BOARD IF DESIRED.
He walked away whistling, and after going a little way turned and passed it again. He passed in all four times, and then, with an odd grin lurking at the corners of his mouth, strode up to the front door and knocked loudly. He heard somebody moving about inside, and, more with the idea of keeping his courage up than anything else, gave another heavy knock at the door. It was thrown open hastily, and the astonished face of his wife appeared before him.
“What do you want?” she inquired, sharply.
Mr. Hatchard raised his hat. “Good-afternoon, ma'am,” he said, politely.
“What do you want?” repeated his wife.
“I called,” said Mr. Hatchard, clearing his throat—“I called about the bill in the window.”