For some time Mrs. Balmer was worried over the thought that this man was
probably an experimenter. He probably fussed around with things as an old
crank does sometimes, and he would end by burning down the house or
blowing it up--accidentally.
But Mrs. Balmer's fears were removed one evening when she happened to look
down the gloomy hallway and notice that this man's door was open. A gay,
festive illumination streamed out of the opened doorway and Mrs. Balmer
paid a social call. She found her roomer sitting in a chair, reading.
Around him blazed four large kerosene lamps. But there was nothing else to
notice. His eyes were probably bad, and Mrs. Balmer, after exchanging a
few words on the subject of towels, transportation and the weather, said
good-night.
But always after that Mrs. Balmer noticed that the door remained open.
Open doors are frequent in rooming-houses. People grow lonely and leave
the doors of their cubby holes open. There is nothing odd about that. Yet
one evening while Mrs. Balmer stood gossiping with this man in the doorway
she noticed something about him that disturbed her. She had noticed it
first when she looked in the room before saying hello. Mr. Crawford was
sitting facing the portieres that covered the folding doors that
partitioned the room.
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