Mrs. Hepton, the landlady, noticed the
change.
"You not ill, Mr. Pearson, I hope?" she queried. "I do hope you haven't
got cold, sleeping with your windows wide open, as you say you do. Fresh
air is a good thing, in moderation, but one should be careful. Don't you
think so, Mr. Carson?"
Mr. Carson was a thin little man, a bachelor, who occupied the smallest
room on the third story. He was a clerk in a department store, and his
board was generally in arrears. Therefore, when Mrs. Hepton expressed an
opinion he made it a point to agree with her. In this instance, however,
he merely grunted.
"I say fresh air in one's sleeping room is a good thing in moderation.
Don't you think so, Mr. Carson?" repeated the landlady.
Mr. Carson rolled up his napkin and inserted it in the ring. His board,
as it happened, was paid in full to date. Also, although he had not yet
declared his intention, he intended changing lodgings at the end of the
week.
"Humph!" he sniffed, with sarcasm, "it may be. I couldn't get none in MY
room if I wanted it, so I can't say sure. Morning."
He departed hurriedly. Mrs. Hepton looked disconcerted. Mrs. Van Winkle
Ruggles smiled meaningly across the table at Miss Sherborne, who smiled
back.
Mr. Ludlow, the bookseller, quietly observed that he hoped Mr.
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