A hall bedroom in a third-rate boarding-house is not a cheerful place,
but when Tembarom vaguely felt this, he recalled the nights spent in
empty trucks and behind lumber-piles, and thought he was getting
spoiled by luxury. He told himself that he was a fellow who always
had luck. He did not know, neither did any one else, that his luck
would have followed him if he had lived in a coal-hole. It was the
concomitant of his normal build and outlook on life. Mrs. Bowse, his
hard-worked landlady, began by being calmed down by his mere bearing
when he came to apply for his room and board. She had a touch of
grippe, and had just emerged from a heated affray with a dirty cook,
and was inclined to battle when he presented himself. In a few
minutes she was inclined to battle no longer. She let him have the
room. Cantankerous restrictions did not ruffle him.

"Of course what you say GOES," he said, giving her his friendly grin.
"Any one that takes boarders has GOT to be careful. You're in for a
bad cold, ain't you?"

"I've got grippe again, that's what I've got," she almost snapped.

"Did you ever try Payson's 'G. Destroyer'? G stands for grippe, you
know. Catchy name, ain't it? They say the man that invented it got
ten thousand dollars for it. 'G. Destroyer.' You feel like you have
to find out what it means when you see it up on a boarding. I'm just
over grippe myself, and I've got half a bottle in my pocket. You
carry it about with you, and swallow one every half-hour. You just
try it. It set me right in no time."

He took the bottle out of his waistcoat pocket and handed it to her.
She took it and turned it over.