explain why he looked out of that pantry
window. He had reached his home in a hungry condition. He was tired and
dead broke, so he had resolved to forage. He had listened for two or
three, perhaps five, minutes in the hall of his boarding-house; then he
went, soft-footed, to Mrs. Hallam's pantry on the second floor. He was
sure that it was open, he was equally sure that it contained something
edible on its hospitable shelves. Ah! who has not his bread at midnight
stolen, ye heavenly powers, ye know him not!

Pinton, however, knew one thing, and that was a ravenous desire to sink
his teeth into pie, custard, or even bread. He felt with large, eager
hands along the wall on the pantry side. With feverish joy he touched
the knob--a friendly knob, despite its cold, distant glaze--of the door
he sought.

Pinton gave a tug, and then his heart stopped beating. The door was
locked. Something like a curse, something like a prayer, rose to his
lips, and his arms fell helplessly to his side.

Mrs. Hallam, realizing that it was Saturday night--the predatory night
of the week--had secured her pastry, her confitures, her celebrated
desserts; and so poor Pinton, all his sweet teeth furiously aching, his
mouth watering, stood on the hither side of Paradise, a baffled peri in
pantaloons!

After a pause, full of pain and troublous previsions of a restless,
discontented night, Pinton grew angry and pulled at the knob of the
door, thinking, perhaps, that it might abate a jot of its dignified
resistance. It remained immovable, grimly antagonistic, until his
fingers grew hot and cold as they touched a bit of cold metal.

The key in the lock! In a second it was turned, and the hungry one was
within and restlessly searching and fumbling for food. He felt along the
lower shelves and met apples, oranges, and sealed bottles containing
ruined, otherwise miscalled preserved, fruit. He knelt on the dresser
and explored the upper shelf. Ah, here was richness indeed! Pies, pies,
cakes, pies, frosted cakes, cakes sweating golden, fruity promises, and
cakes as icy as the hand of charity. Pinton was happy, glutton that he
was, and he soon filled the pockets of his overcoat. What Mrs. Hallam
might say in the morning he cared not. Let the galled jade wince, his
breakfast appetite would be unwrung; and then he started violently, lost
his balance, and almost fell to the floor.

Opposite him was the window of the pantry, which faced the wall of the
nex