"Used to be school-rooms," said Lemuel's mate, in a low tone.

"Cots thirty-nine and forty," said the attendant, looking at their
checks. "Right over there, in the corner."

"Come along," said the mate, leading the way, with the satisfaction
of an _habitue_. "Best berth in the room, and about the last
they reach in the morning. You see, they got to take us as we come,
when they call us, and the last feller in at night's the first
feller out in the morning, because his bed's the nearest the door."

He did not pull down the blankets of his cot at once, but stretched
himself out in the quilt that covered them. "Cool off a little,
first," he explained. "Well, this is what I call comfort, mate,
heigh?"

Lemuel did not answer. He was watching the attendant with a group of
tramps who could not find their cots.

"Can't read, I suppose," said the mate, a little disdainfully.
"Well, look at that old chap, will you!" A poor fellow was fumbling
with his blankets, as if he did not know quite how to manage them.
The attendant had to come to his help, and tuck him in. "Well,
there!" exclaimed the mate, lifting himself on his elbow to admire
the scene. "I don't suppose he's ever been in a decent bed before.
Hayloft's _his_ style, or a board-pile." He sank down again,
and went on: "Well, you do see all kinds of folks here, that's a
fact. Sorry there ain't more in to-night, so 's to give you a
specimen. You ought to be here in the winter. Well, it ain't so
lonesome now, in summer, as it used to be. Sometimes I used to have