Fred Organ had succeeded to the paternal house and hansom about two years before. He was now twenty-six, but his corpulence made him appear older; for the chubby smoothness of youth had vanished with continual exposure to the weather, leaving behind many folds and furrows in his large face. Mr. Organ, senior, had bought No. 53 Colonial Terrace by instalments, the punctual payment of which had worried him so much as probably to shorten his life, the last one having been paid just before his death. He had only a week or two for the enjoyment of possession, which was as well; for the house that had cost its owner so much effort to obtain was nearly as ripe for dissolution as himself, and the maintenance of it in repair seemed likely to cause Fred Organ as much financial stress in the future as the original purchase had caused his father in the past. So much of his history did Fred Organ give them while he was stabling his horse, before he could introduce them to his inheritance. It was five o'clock of a chill February morning, and the relief of finding herself safely under a roof after such a tiring and insecure night compensated Sylvia for the impression of unutterable dreariness that Colonial Terrace first made upon her mind, a dreariness quite out of accord with the romantic beginning to the life of independence of which she had dreamed. They could not go to bed when they reached the house, because Fred Organ, master though he was, doubted if it would be wise to wake up his sister to accommodate the guests. "Not that she'd have any call to make a fuss," he observed, "because if I says a thing in No. 53, no one hasn't got the right to object. Still, I'd rather you got a nice first impression of my sister Edith. Well, make yourselves at home. I'll rout round and get the kitchen fire going." Fred routed round with such effect that he woke his sister, who began to scream from the landing above: "Hube! Get up, you great coward! There's somebody breaking in at the back. Get up, Hube, and fetch a policeman before we're both murdered." "It's only me, Ede," Fred called out. "Keep your hair on." When Sylvia saw Edith Organ's curl-papers she thought the last injunction was rather funny. Explanations were soon given and Edith was so happy to find her alarm unnecessary that she was as pleasant as possible and even invited Sylvia to come and share her bed and sleep late into the morning; whereupon Fred Organ invited Arthur to share his bed, which Arthur firmly declined to do, notwithstanding Sylvia's frown. "Well, you can't go to bed with the girls," said Fred. "Oh, Fred, you are a.... Oh, he is a.... Oh, isn't he? Oh, I never. Fancy! What a thing to say! There! Well! Who ever did? I'm sure. What a remark to pass!" Edith exclaimed, quite incoherent from embarrassment, pleasure, and sleep. "Where's Hube?" Fred asked.