Plunging into the darkness with
haste, closely followed by Larcher, the old man suddenly brushed against
some one coming from the stairs.
"Excuse _me_" said Mr. Bud. "I didn't see anybody. It's all-fired dark in
here."
"It _is_ dark," replied the stranger, and passed out to the street.
Larcher, at the words of the other two, had stepped back into a corner
to make way. Mr. Bud turned to look at the stranger; and the stranger,
just outside the doorway, turned to look at Mr. Bud. Then both went their
different directions, Mr. Bud's direction being up the stairs.
"Must be a new lodger," said Mr. Bud. "He was comin' from these stairs
when I run agin 'im. I never seen 'im before."
"You can't truly say you saw him even then," replied Larcher, guiding
himself by the stair wall.
"Oh, he turned around outside, an' I got the street-light on him. A
good-lookin' young chap, to be roomin' on these premises."
"I didn't see his face," replied Larcher, stumbling.
"Look out fur yur feet. Here we are at the top."
Mr. Bud groped to his door, and fumblingly unlocked it. Once inside his
room, he struck a match, and lighted one of the two gas-burners.
"Everything same as ever," said Mr. Bud, looking around from the centre
of the room. "Books, table, chairs, stove, bed made up same's I left
it--"
"Hello, what's this?" exclaimed Larcher, having backed against a hollow
metallic object on the floor and knocked his head against a ropey,
rubbery something in the air.
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