The Brother Clerks | Page 6

and other lumber, were carelessly thrown
in one corner, and the door which opened upon the staircase was
covered with big-lettered advertisements, in such diversified type that it
seemed as if the old door was "making faces" all the time, to improve
its Punch and Judyish appearance. The windows looked down into the
courtyards of adjoining dwellings, which were built up so high that no
view was afforded beyond. As Guly looked down now, he saw the
servants hurrying about with their turbaned heads and ebony faces,
busied with preparations for the morning meal; laughing and joking as
they passed one another, apparently as happy in these narrow gloomy
courts as though they were the possessors of the proud mansions
adjoining.
Such was the view from two of the windows of the room. There was
another one covered partially by a tattered and dusty painted shade, at
the southern extremity of the apartment, but Guly did not approach it,
not caring to look down upon what he thought must be a third edition
of kitchen scenery.
Opposite the bed was a pile of empty dry goods boxes; and one or two
pieces of furniture of the same description were placed about the room,
which, with the addition of one store stool, minus a bottom, served for
seats.
The bedstead was of common stained wood, furnished with a tester and
flimsy mosquito bar, through the grim and smoky folds of which were
visible sheets of unbleached factory muslin, an emaciated mattress, and
a pair of lean pillows, which seemed quite lost in the much too large
cases which covered them. The boy sighed as he took in all the
dinginess and gloom, and his heart throbbed yearningly for the pleasant
room which, even in adversity, had been his at home, cheered and
enlivened so often, too, by the presence of his tender mother.
"It isn't time to get up yet, is it, Gulian?" said Arthur, half-rousing
himself, then closing his weary lids again. "The sun isn't up yet, is it?"

"The sun never gets into this room, Arthur; we can only know when it's
up by the increased light."
"I was dreaming of home; oh! such a pleasant dream! I must sleep a
little longer," murmured Arthur again, in the lingering tones of one but
half-awake.
"Not this morning, brother. Come, we must up, and be doing. I hear
them opening the store below; we shouldn't be late the first morning,
you know, dear Arthur. It is too late to sleep."
Alas! that this first bright dream of home, in that old gloomy room,
should ever have been broken! Alas! that the first sweet slumber, on
that rude couch, should have had its awaking! Alas! for the beauty of
that boyish face, radiant in the flush and glow of early youth, with the
halo of home dreams upon it, that it had not there and then chilled and
crumbled! Alas! for the innocence and purity of that buoyant spirit, that
it had not then taken its flight to brighter realms, forewarned of the dark
time coming, when it would quake to find in conscience's depths, that,
indeed, "it was too late to sleep."
Upon going down stairs the first person the brothers met was Jeff, who
stood at the foot of the staircase, looking up as if expecting them. They
returned his cheerful and respectful salutation kindly, and passed on to
the front door, where Wilkins stood in his shirt-sleeves; leaning against
the door-post, reading the morning paper.
He raised his eyes as they approached, and nodded to them, and,
somewhat to Guly's surprise, inquired how they had rested, adding that
the room needed some cleaning before it could be made habitable for
human beings, and he would see to it.
They thanked him, and, as he resumed his reading, they could do
nothing more than stand in the door and look out, or walk briskly up
and down the floor for exercise. The clerks began to gather in after a
while, all of whom gave the young strangers a passing greeting, as they
stationed themselves at their respective places. At length beginning to
experience the craving of naturally good appetites, they walked up to

Wilkins, and inquired where they were expected to board.
"Good gracious! sure enough!" said he, flinging his paper on the
counter, "I came near forgetting you; and would have been off to
breakfast without you in a minute more. Come on," and he put on his
coat as he went out of the door, and led the way down street. They only
walked a couple of blocks, then entered a large room, opening upon the
street, with glazed glass doors, which stood open on account of the heat
of the morning.
"I always eat here, as it is