I
walked rapidly through dark, deserted streets. A steeple clock was
striking two, when I heard someone coming hurriedly on the walk
behind me. I looked over my shoulder, but could not make him out in
the darkness, and yet there was something familiar in the step. As he
came near I felt his hand upon my shoulder.
'Better go home, Brower,' he said, as I recognised the voice of
Trumbull. 'You've been out a long time. Passed you before tonight.'
'Why didn't you speak?'
'You were preoccupied.'
'Not keeping good hours yourself,' I said.
'Rather late,' he answered, 'but I am a walker, and I love the night.
It is so still in this part of the town.'
We were passing the Five Points.
'When do you sleep,' I enquired.
'Never sleep at night,' he said, 'unless uncommonly tired. Out every
night more or less. Sleep two hours in the morning and two in the
afternoon - that's all I require. Seen the hands o' that clock yonder
on every hour of the night.'
He pointed to a lighted dial in a near tower.
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