It was decorated as garishly as the hall, as staring and vivid in color,
but wholesomely new and clean for all its paint, veneering, and plaster.
It was filled with heterogeneous splendor--all new and well kept, yet
with so much of the attitude of the show-room still lingering about
it that one almost expected to see the various articles of furniture
ticketed with their prices. A luxurious bed, with satin hangings and
Indian carved posts, standing ostentatiously in a corner, kept up this
resemblance, for in a curtained recess stood a worn camp bedstead,
Rushbrook's real couch, Spartan in its simplicity.
Mr. Rushbrook drew his watch from his pocket, and deliberately divested
himself of his boots, coat, waistcoat, and cravat. Then rolling himself
in a fleecy, blanket-like rug with something of the habitual dexterity
of a frontiersman, he threw himself on his couch, closed his eyes,
and went instantly to sleep. Lying there, he appeared to be a man
comfortably middle-aged, with thick iron-gray hair that might have
curled had he encouraged such inclination; a skin roughened and darkened
by external hardships and exposure, but free from taint of inner vice
or excess, and indistinctive features redeemed by a singularly handsome
mouth.
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