"
"Come here," said Torpenhow, crossing the landing. "This place is a big box
room really, but it will do for you. There's your skylight, or your north
light, or whatever window you call it, and plenty of room to thrash about in,
and a bedroom beyond. What more do you need?"
"Good enough," said Dick, looking round the large room that took up a third of
a top story in the rickety chambers overlooking the Thames. A pale yellow sun
shone through the skylight and showed the much dirt of the place. Three steps
led from the door to the landing, and three more to Torpenhow's room. The well
of the staircase disappeared into darkness, pricked by tiny gas-jets, and there
were sounds of men talking and doors slamming seven flights below, in the warm
gloom.
"Do they give you a free hand here?" said Dick, cautiously. He was Ishmael
enough to know the value of liberty.
"Anything you like; latch-keys and license unlimited. We are permanent tenants
for the most part here. 'Tisn't a place I would recommend for a Young Men's
Christian Association, but it will serve. I took these rooms for you when I
wired."
"You're a great deal too kind, old man."
"You didn't suppose you were going away from me, did you?" Torpenhow put his
hand on Dick's shoulder, and the two walked up and down the room, henceforward
to be called the studio, in sweet and silent communion.
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