He went out and bought dish-towels, soap, washing-powder, and collars of Charley’s size, which was an inch larger than his own. He finished sweeping and dusting and washing the dishes—all of them. He—who had learned to comfort Istra—he really enjoyed it. His sense of order made it a pleasure to see a plate yellow with dried egg glisten iridescently and flash into shining whiteness; or a room corner filled with dust and tobacco flakes become again a “nice square clean corner with the baseboard shining, gee! just like it was new.” An irate grocer called with a bill for fifteen dollars. Mr. Wrenn blandly heard his threats all through, pretending to himself that this was his home, whose honor was his honor. He paid the man eight dollars on account and loftily dismissed him. He sat down to wait for Charley, reading a newspaper most of the time, but rising to pursue stray flies furiously, stumbling over chairs, and making murderous flappings with a folded newspaper. When Charley awoke, after three hours, clear of mind but not at all clear as regards the roof of his mouth, Mr. Wrenn gave him a very little whisky, with considerable coffee, toast, and bacon. The toast was not bad. “Now, Charley,” he said, cheerfully, “your bat’s over, ain’t it, old man?” “Say, you been darn’ decent to me, old man. Lord! how you’ve been sweeping up! How was I—was I pretty soused?” “Honest, you were fierce. You will sober up, now, won’t you?” “Well, it’s no wonder I had a classy hang-over, Wrenn. I was at the Amusieren Rathskeller till four this morning, and then I had a couple of nips before breakfast, and then I didn’t have any breakfast. But sa-a-a-ay, man, I sure did have some fiesta last night. There was a little peroxide blonde that—” “Now you look here, Carpenter; you listen to me. You’re sober now. Have you tried to find another job?” “Yes, I did. But I got down in the mouth. Didn’t feel like I had a friend left.” “Well, you h—” “But I guess I have now, old Wrennski.” “Look here, Charley, you know I don’t want to pull off no Charity Society stunt or talk like I was a preacher. But I like you so darn much I want to see you sober up and get another job. Honestly I do, Charley. Are you broke?” “Prett’ nearly. Only got about ten dollars to my name…. I _will_ take a brace, old man. I know you ain’t no preacher. Course if you came around with any ‘holierthan-thou’ stunt I’d have to go right out and get soused on general principles…. Yuh—I’ll try to get a job.” “Here’s ten dollars. Please take it—aw—please, Charley.” “_All_ right; anything to oblige.” “What ’ve you got in sight in the job line?” “Well, there’s a chance at night clerking in a little hotel where I was a bell-hop long time ago. The night clerk’s going to get through, but I don’t know just when—prob’ly in a week or two.” “Well, keep after it. And _please_ come down to see me—the old place—West Sixteenth Street.”