“O, yes, I remember that!” said Whistler, with a laugh, as he jumped out of bed. “What did you think when you saw it? Didn’t you laugh?”
“I rather think we all laughed a little over it,” replied Clinton. “I had some idea of sending you back one of our cat’s purs in my letter, but I didn’t know exactly how to do it.”
“But what did you get up for, and leave me here asleep? Is that the way to serve a fellow?” inquired Whistler.
“O, I thought I wouldn’t disturb you,” replied Clinton. “I wanted to see that splendid view you told me of when we were on Bald Peak. Do you remember?”
“Yes; ninety-five millions of miles. But, you see, it’s all sky-scape; there isn’t much landscape to boast of,” said Whistler.
“No, I see there isn’t,” replied Clinton, as he glanced at the interminable brick block, with its row of low wooden sheds in the rear, all of uniform size and pattern, and its little bits of open spaces between the sheds, which served as back yards.
The row of houses, the backs of which bounded the prospect from Whistler’s window, was situated on a street parallel with that on which Mr. Preston lived. Dwellings and stores are usually built in blocks, or joined together, in cities and towns, because the land is too valuable to admit of an open space around each separate building. Mr. Davenport’s house was a fair specimen of this style of building. It was not far from the centre of a block of about twenty houses, which were very nearly uniform in their external appearance. It was of brick, and three stories high, besides the basement and attic. There were two entrances to each house,—the front door, reached by four stone steps, and a door opening into a narrow archway, which led to the back yard. An iron balustrade extended the entire length of the block, in front of the second story. Add to this a brick sidewalk, with a line of young trees near the edge, and a clean and well-paved street, and you have a tolerably distinct picture of the outside of Whistler’s home.
Whistler’s chamber was in the third story, on the side of the house farthest from the street. It was quite neatly furnished. The floor was carpeted, and the windows curtained. It contained a bureau, with a mirror attached to it, a small dressing-table, and several chairs, all of which, together with the bedstead, were painted a light chocolate color, ornamented with dark stripes. In one corner was a marble wash-basin, supplied with Cochituate water by means of a pipe, and furnished with an outlet at the bottom, connecting with another pipe, to let off the dirty water. There was a grate in the room, and a marble mantel-piece, over which hung a large engraved likeness of Washington, in a rosewood frame. On the side of the room opposite the bed there was a small book-rack, which was filled with volumes and pamphlets, many of which belonged to Whistler. There was a closet in the room, in which he kept his clothing, and many of his playthings. The general appearance of the chamber bore witness to the neat and orderly habits of its occupant.
The boys had now dressed and washed themselves, and brushed their hair, and went down stairs, followed by Bouncer. In the sitting-room they found Mr. Davenport, in his dressing-gown, so absorbed in his morning paper that he apparently did not notice their entrance. Not wishing to disturb him, they soon left the room, but had not gone far when he called to them in a loud and rather authoritative tone:
“Boys! boys! come back!”