Mr. Palford glanced at the performers. He did not say whether he liked New York or not. “I asked your landlady if we could not see each other in a private room,” he said. “It would not be possible to talk quietly here.” “We shouldn't have much of a show,” answered Tembarom, inwardly wishing he knew what was going to happen. “But there are no private rooms in the house. We can be quieter than this, though, if we go up stairs to Mr. Hutchinson's room. He said I could bring you.” “That would be much better,” replied Mr. Palford. Tembarom led him out of the room, up the first steep and narrow flight of stairs, along the narrow hall to the second, up that, down another hall to the third, up the third, and on to the fourth. As he led the way he realized again that the worn carpets, the steep narrowness, and the pieces of paper unfortunately stripped off the wall at intervals, were being rather counted against him. This man had probably never been in a place like this before in his life, and he didn't take to it. At the Hutchinsons' door he stopped and explained: “We were going to have an oyster stew here because the Hutchinsons are going away; but Mr. Hutchinson said we could come up.” “Very kind of Mr. Hutchinson, I'm sure.” Despite his stiffly collected bearing, Mr. Palford looked perhaps slightly nervous when he was handed into the bed-sitting-room, and found himself confronting Hutchinson and Little Ann and the table set for the oyster stew. It is true that he had never been in such a place in his life, that for many reasons he was appalled, and that he was beset by a fear that he might be grotesquely compelled by existing circumstances to accept these people's invitation, if they insisted upon his sitting down with them and sharing their oyster stew. One could not calculate on what would happen among these unknown quantities. It might be their idea of boarding-house politeness. And how could one offend them? God forbid that the situation should intensify itself in such an absurdly trying manner! What a bounder the unfortunate young man was! His own experience had not been such as to assist him to any realistic enlightenment regarding him, even when he had seen the society page and had learned that he had charge of it. “Let me make you acquainted with Mr. and Miss Hutchinson,” Tembarom introduced. “This is Mr. Palford, Mr. Hutchinson.” Hutchinson, half hidden behind his newspaper, jerked his head and grunted: “Glad to see you, sir.” Mr. Palford bowed, and took the chair Tembarom presented. “I am much obliged to you, Mr. Hutchinson, for allowing me to come to your room. I have business to discuss with Mr. Tembarom, and the pianola was being played down-stairs--rather loudly.” “They do it every night, dang 'em! Right under my bed,” growled Hutchinson. “You're an Englishman, aren't you?” “Yes.” “So am I, thank God!” Hutchinson devoutly gave forth. Little Ann rose from her chair, sewing in hand.