The young man--the disturbing element of the old
gentleman's life, as Marcus Wilkeson regarded him--was not again seen
in the room where he had made his first appearance, but was discovered,
several days after that event, sitting at a table near a window in the
second story, and writing industriously. His labors were evidently not
disagreeable; for, after an hour's engagement with his pen, he would sit
back in his chair, laugh, take a long drink from a black bottle which
stood at his elbow, and light a fresh cigar. Whatever his occupation, he
was completely absorbed in it, and did not notice the pair of keen eyes
peering at him from behind a book in the house opposite. Every
afternoon, about three o'clock, the young man sat at the table with his
bottle, cigars, and writing materials, and pursued his pleasant labors.
Marcus Wilkeson would never have pretended that it was not highly
improper to watch one's neighbors. He would have denounced it as
deserving of the severest reprobation. But he would have said, that if,
while he was sitting, according to his invariable custom, at his own
window, for the sole purpose of reading a book, people chose to bring
themselves within the range of his vision, he was not therefore under
obligations to vacate his seat.
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