Before reaching Staunton he had counted the ready money that remained to him, and it amounted to thirteen shillings and five-pence.
"Do you know of any lodgings; clean, but not too dear?"
The porter was knotting a length of cord round the body of the portmanteau.
"Staying here? What sort of lodgings?"
"I am taking up a post in the town. A bed-sitting-room for me and the boy. I don't mind how plain it is"
"I've got an aunt," said the porter, "who lets lodgings. There's a room, up at the top. Fletcher's Lane. Not a hundred yards off."
"Would she board us?"
"Feed you?"
"Yes."
"She might. Look here,—I'm going off duty in ten minutes or so. I'll show you the way."
"I'm very much obliged to you."
Sorrell gave him the five pennies.
"Thank you, sir. I'll pop this round for you on my shoulder."
No. 7, Fletcher's Lane, accepted the Sorrells and packed them away in a big attic-like room under the roof. It had a dormer window with a view of the cathedral towers and the trees of the Close, and between the cathedral and the dormer window of No. 7 every sort of roof and chimney ran in broken reds and greys and browns. The room was clean, with a white coverlet on the bed, a square of linoleum in the centre of the floor, and a smaller piece in front of the yellow washstand. The chest of drawers had lost a leg and most of its paint, and when you opened a top drawer it was necessary to put a knee against one of the lower drawers to prevent the whole chest from toppling forward.
The landlady asked Sorrell if he would like tea, and he glanced at his wrist watch.
"I have to go out first. Would half-past five do?"
"Nicely. Will you take an egg to it?"
"Yes, an egg each, please. And could I have a little hot water!"
The hot water was forthcoming in a battered tin jug, and Sorrell washed himself, brushed his clothes and hair,
