The regular "tap-tap" of the cobbler's hammer continued for an hour
until dusk, and all the while the soldier lay dressed on his bed.
Soon after, a creaking of the stairs told of the surreptitious
approach of the unwilling host. He listened outside, and even tried
the door, but found it bolted. The soldier, open-eyed on the bed,
snored aloud. At the sound of the key on the outside of the door he
made a grimace again. His features were very mobile, for Schleswig.
He heard the bootmaker descend the stairs again almost noiselessly,
and, rising from the bed, he took his station at the window. All
the Langgasse would seem to be eating-houses. The basement, which
has a separate door, gives forth odours of simple Pomeranian meats,
and every other house bears to this day the curt but comforting
inscription, "Here one eats." It was only to be supposed that the
bootmaker at the end of his day would repair for supper to some
special haunt near by.
But the smell of cooking mingling with that of leather told that he
was preparing his own evening meal. He was, it seemed, an
unsociable man, who had but a son beneath his roof, and mostly lived
alone.
Seated near the window, where the sunset light yet lingered, the
Schleswiger opened his haversack, which was well supplied, and
finding paper, pens and ink, fell to writing with one eye watchful
of the window and both ears listening for any movement in the room
below.
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