eiling in the highest part; on either side
it sloped sharply, the slope only broken by the window gables, the stair
casement being carried into the very centre of the room to get height for
the door. The plaster on the ceiling had come off in patches, as if
cannon-balled by unwary heads, showing the lath, and was also splashed by
the smoke-wreaths of carelessly held candles; the papering was half torn
from the shaky plastering of the wall; the flooring was time-eaten. A
general impression of uncleanness was everywhere. On a ricketty little
table behind the candle was a tin basin and a cracked earthenware
pitcher. Excepting a limited supply of bedroom ware, which was very
strongly in evidence, there was no other furniture. Looking round, Ned
saw that on the bed opposite the door, hidden in the shadows, a man lay
groaning and moaning. Through the windows could be seen the glorious
moonlight.

"No. A man wants to be careful here," said the waiter, throwing the
blanket over the sheets and straightening it in a whisk. "There," he went
on, "will that suit you?"

"Anything'll suit me," said Ned, pulling off his coat and hanging it over
the head of the postless bed. "I'm much obliged."

"That's all right," replied Jack, cheerfully. "I'll be up to bed soon,"
he informed the others and ran down stairs again.

"Will you have a cigarette?" asked the English lad, holding out a box.

"Thanks, but I don't smoke," answered Ned, who had pulled off his boots
and was wrestling with his shirt. Finally it came over his head. He lay
down in his underclothing, having first gingerly turned back the blanket
to the foot.

"I don't desire to be personal," said the broken-down swell. "You'll
excuse me, but I must say you're a finely built man. You understand me?
No offence!"

"He is big," chipped in the youth.

"You don't offend a man much by telling him he's well built," retorted
Ned, with an attempt at mirth.

"Certainly. You understand me. It's not the size, my boy"--to the
youth. "Size is nothing. It's the proportion, the capacity for putting
out strength. I've been an athlete myself and I'm no chicken yet. But our
friend here ought to be a Hercules. Will you take a drink? You'll excuse
the glass." He offered Ned a flask half full of whisky.

"Thanks just the same but I never drink," answered Ned, stretching
himself carelessly. The lad refused also.

"You're wise, both of you," commented the other, swallowing down a couple
of mou