He pulled the
bed down, and showed him how it worked, and he lighted two bulbous
gas-burners, contrived to burn the gas at such a low pressure that
they were like two unsnuffed candles for brilliancy. He backed round
over the spacious floor and looked about him with an unfamiliar,
marauding air, which had a certain boldness, but failed to impart
courage to Lemuel, who trembled for fear of the unknown expense. But
he was ashamed to go away, and when the man left him he went to bed,
after some suspicious investigation of the machine he was to sleep
in. He found its comfort unmistakable. He was tired out with what
had been happening, and the events of the day recurred in a turmoil
that helped rather than hindered slumber; none evolved itself
distinctly enough from the mass to pursue him; what he was mainly
aware of was the daring question whether he could not get the place
of that clerk who had kicked.
In the morning he saw the landlady, who was called Mrs. Harmon, and
who took the pay for his lodging, and said he might leave his bag a
while there in the office. She was a large, smooth, tranquil person,
who seemed ready for any sort of consent; she entered into an easy
conversation with Lemuel, and was so sympathetic in regard to the
difficulties of getting along in the city, that he had proposed
himself as clerk and been accepted almost before he believed the
thing had happened.
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