He hoped for another night in the cabin, but if that were not to be, there was a bed easy of access on Stage Three.

When he had observed it, a ghastly old father was coughing out his life under its blankets, nursed only by his daughter, a beautiful young creature who sewed by his bedside, and who would doubtless be thrown upon the world in the very next reel, though--Merton was glad to note--probably not until the next day.
Yet there was no need for this couch of the tubercular father, for action in the little cabin was still on.

After making the unhappy discovery in the cafeteria that his appetite could not be hoodwinked by the clumsy subterfuge of calling coffee and rolls a breakfast some six hours previously, he went boldly down to stand before his home.

Both miners were at work inside.

The room had been placed in order again, though the little mountain flower was gone.