"Yes; they told me so this morning."
"Was that the first you'd heard of it?"
"Sure!" The word almost jumped at the questioner. "Do you suppose
I'd have taken the room if -"
But here the intruder, with a disdainful grunt, turned and went out,
disgust in every feature, - plain, unmistakable, downright disgust,
and nothing more!
This was what gave Sweetwater his second bad night; this and a
certain discovery he made. He had counted on hearing what went on
in the neighbouring room through the partition running back of
his own closet. But he could hear nothing, unless it was the
shutting down of a window, a loud sneeze, or the rattling of coals
as they were put on the fire. And these possessed no significance.
What he wanted was to catch the secret sigh, the muttered word, the
involuntary movement. He was too far removed from this man still.
How should he manage to get nearer him - at the door of his mind
- of his heart? Sweetwater stared all night from his miserable cot
into the darkness of that separating closet, and with no result. His
task looked hopeless; no wonder that he could get no rest.
Next morning he felt ill, but he rose all the same, and tried to get
his own breakfast. He had but partially succeeded and was sitting
on the edge of his bed in wretched discomfort, when the very man he
was thinking of appeared at his door.
"I've come to see how you are," said Brotherson. "I noticed that
you did not look well last night. Won't you come in and share my
pot of coffee?"
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