“I have no lodging to let,” said the bootmaker. But he did not shut the door.
“I can pay,” said the other, with his thumb still at his chin. He had quick, blue eyes beneath the shaggy hair that wanted cutting. “I am very tired--it is only for one night.”
The soldier was a dull and slow man. He leant against the doorpost with tired gestures before replying.
“Sergeant in a Schleswig regiment, in charge of spare horses.”
The shoemaker looked him up and down with a doubting eye, as if there were something about him that was not quite clear and above-board. The dust and fatigue were, however, unmistakable.
“Who sent you to me, anyway?” he grumbled.
“Oh, I do not know,” was the half-impatient answer; “the man I lodged with in Dantzig or another, I forget. It was Koch the locksmith in the Schmiedegasse. See, I have money. I tell you it is for one night. Say yes or no. I want to get to bed and to sleep.”
“A thaler--if you like. Among friends, one is willing to pay.”
After a short minute of hesitation the shoemaker opened the door wider and came out.
“And there will be another thaler for the horse, which I shall have to take to the stable of the wood-merchant at the corner. Go into the workshop and sit down till I come.”
He stood in the doorway and watched the soldier seat himself wearily on a bench in the workshop among the ancient boots, past repair, one would think, and lean his head against the wall.
He was half asleep already, and the bootmaker, who was lame, shrugged his shoulders as he led away the tired horse, with a gesture half of pity, half of doubting suspicion. Had it suggested itself to his mind, and had it been within the power of one so halt and heavy-footed to turn back noiselessly, he would have found his visitor wide-awake enough, hurriedly opening every drawer and peering under the twine and needles, lifting every bale of leather, shaking out the very boots awaiting repair.
When the dweller in Number Thirteen returned, the soldier was asleep, and had to be shaken before he would open his eyes.
“Will you eat before you go to bed?” asked the bootmaker not unkindly.
“I ate as I came along the street,” was the reply. “No, I will go to bed. What time is it?”
“It is only seven o'clock--but no matter.”