Closely adjoining it, in a large, blank-looking yard, stood a low
brick cottage, over which the second story of the warehouse leaned in an
effect of tipsy affection that had reminded Harkless, when he first saw
it, of an old Sunday-school book wood-cut of an inebriated parent under
convoy of a devoted child. The title to these two buildings and the blank
yard had been included in the purchase of the "Herald"; and the cottage
was Harkless's home.
There was a light burning upstairs in the "Herald" office. From the street
a broad, tumble-down stairway ran up on the outside of the building to the
second floor, and at the stairway railing John turned and shook his
companion warmly by the hand.
"Good-night, William," he said. "It was plucky of you to join in that
muss, to-night. I shan't forget it."
"I jest happened to come along," replied the other, drowsily; then, with a
portentous yawn, he asked: "Ain't ye goin' to bed?"
"No; Parker wouldn't allow it."
"Well," observed William, with another yawn, which bade fair to expose the
veritable soul of him, "I d'know how ye stand it. It's closte on eleven
o'clock. Good-night."
John went up the steps, singing aloud:
"For to-night we'll merry, merry be,
For to-night we'll merry, merry be,"
and stopped on the sagging platform at the top of the stairs and gave the
moon good-night with a wave of the hand and friendly laughter.
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