Number 48 was a good deal like
the others. "Decent enough, but commonplace," Randolph pronounced. "Yet
what could I have been expecting?" he added; and his whimsical smile told
him not to let himself become absurd.
There were lighted windows in the front and at the side. Which of these was
Cope's, and what was the boy doing? Was he deep in black-letter, or was he
selecting a necktie preliminary to some evening diversion outside? Or had
he put out his light--several windows were dark--and already taken the
train into town for some concert or theatre?
"Well," said Randolph to himself, with a last puff at his cigarette,
"they're not likely to move out and leave him up in the air. I hope," he
went on, "that he has more than a bedroom merely. But we know on what an
incredibly small scale some of them live."
He threw away his cigarette and strolled on to his own quarters. These were
but ten minutes away. In his neighborhood, too, people owned their homes
and were unlikely to hurry you out on a month's notice. You could be sure
of being able to stay on; and Randolph, in fact, had stayed on, with a
suitable family, for three or four years.
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