"Is your room all right?" She asked the question hurriedly, awkwardly.

"All right, ma'am."

"And not too noisy for you here?--the basement noise, I mean."

"A ship-carpenter, ma'am--he soon gets used to noise."

"Of course." She glanced furtively at him. "Good-night." She hurried
downstairs.

That night when Jan, who read romantic fiction to relieve his
loneliness, laid down his stirring mediæval tale to go to bed, he did
not follow up the intention with immediate action, as usual.

By and by he raised the window-sash, and the cool, damp sea-air feeling
good, he leaned out to enjoy it. It was a cloudy night, with a touch of
coming snow in the air; but for all that a night to enjoy, only for the
racket ascending from the pool-room.

"I don't think much of those people down there," thought Jan as he
lowered the sash to all but six or eight inches for fresh air and picked
up the alarm clock from the rickety dresser. "I wonder if she's one of
that crowd?" And he began to wind the clock. "But sure she ain't--sure
not."

Jan had been holding the clock absently in his hand. Suddenly he set it
down and scolded himself--"Jan Tingloff, remember you has to be up at
six in the morning!"--and undressed, blew out the light and slid into