nd to
bed. He had tried once or twice to get up early, but had found no sense
in it. He had called on a friend, but had found him asleep; he had
wanted to pay money into the bank, but had found it still closed; he
had gone to the library to borrow music, but it was not yet open; he had
wanted to use the electric trams, but they had not yet started running.
It was impossible to get a cab at this hour of the morning; he could not
even buy a pinch of his favourite snuff; there was nothing at all for
him to do. And so he had eventually formed the habit of staying in bed
until late; and after all, he had no one to please but himself.

He loved the sun and flowers and children; but he could not live on the
sunny side of the street on account of his delicate instruments, which
were out of tune almost as soon as they were put into a sunny room.

Therefore, on the 1st of April, he took rooms which faced north. He
was quite sure that there was no mistake about this, for he carried
a compass on his watch-chain, and he could find the Great Bear in the
evening sky.

So far, so good; but then the spring came, and it was so warm that it
was really pleasant to live in rooms with a northern aspect. His bedroom
joined the sitting-room; he always kept his bedroom in pitch-black
darkness by letting down the Venetian blinds; there were no Venetian
blinds in the sitting-room, because they were not wanted there.

And the early summer came and everything grew green. The conductor had
dined at the restaurant "Hazelmount," and had drunk a bottle of Burgundy
with his dinner, and therefore he slept long and soundly, especially as
the theatre was closed on that day.

He slept well, but while he slept it grew so warm in the room that he
woke up two or three times, or, at any rate, he thought he did. Once
he fancied that his wall-paper was on fire, but that was probably the
effect of the Burgundy; another time he felt as if something hot had
touched his face, but that was certainly the Burgundy; and so he turned
over and fell asleep again.

At half-past nine he got up, dressed, and went into the sitting-room to
refresh himself with a glass of milk which always stood ready for him in
the morning.

It was anything but cool in the sitting-room this morning; it was
almost warm, too warm. And the cold milk was not cold; it was lukewarm,
unpleasantly lukewarm.

The conductor was not a hot-tempered man, but he liked order and method
in everything.