It made her nervous to catch a glimpse of him in his
too-brightly lighted room, sitting hour after hour staring at the
portieres--as if there was something behind them, when there was nothing
behind them except an old hat and coat and shirt. She looked every
morning.
But he paid his rent regularly. He left in the morning regularly and
always returned at eight o'clock. He was an ideal roomer--except that
there never is an ideal roomer--but Mrs. Balmer couldn't stand his lights
and his watching the portieres. It frightened her.
* * * * *
Screams sometimes sound in a rooming-house. One night--it was after
midnight--Mrs. Balmer woke up. The darkened house seemed filled with
noises. A man was screaming.
Mrs. Balmer got dressed and called the janitor. There was no doubt in her
mind where the noises came from. Some of the roomers were awake and
looking sleepily and frightenedly out of their doorways. Mrs. Balmer and
the janitor hurried to the back room on the third floor. It was Crawford
screaming.
His door was closed, but it opened when the janitor turned the knob. Mr.
Crawford was standing in front of the portieres in the too-brightly
lighted room and screaming.
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