"I get you, Mister! Here's your room, number fourteen."

The boy disappeared while still the key with its long tin label was
jingling in the lock. The doctor opened the door of room number fourteen
and went in.

Rooms, we contend, like people, should be considered in relation to that
state in which it has pleased Providence to place them. To consider
number fourteen in any environment save its own would be manifestly
unfair since, in relation to all the other rooms at the Imperial,
number fourteen was a good room, perhaps the very best. A description
tempts us, but perhaps its best description is to be found in its effect
upon Dr. Callandar. That effect was an immediate determination to depart
by the next train, provided the next train did not leave before he had
had something to eat.

He was aroused from gloomy musings by a discreet tap announcing the
return of the scouting party. The scouting party was piled with parcels
up to its round eyes and from the parcels issued an odour so delicious
that the doctor's depression vanished.

"Good hunting, eh?"

"Prime, sir. 'Tisn't store stuff, either! As soon as I see that look in
your eye I remembered 'bout the tea-fight over at Knox's Church last
night and how they'd be sure to be selling off what's left, for the
benefit of the heathen." The boy gave the roundest wink Callandar had
ever seen and deposited his parcels upon the bed. "They always have
'bout forty times as much's they can use. Course I didn't get you any