Annixter was a wealthy man; he could have furnished his dwelling with quite as much elegance as that of Magnus Derrick.

As it was, however, he considered his house merely as a place to eat, to sleep, to change his clothes in; as a shelter from the rain, an office where business was transacted--nothing more.
When he was sufficiently awake, Annixter thrust his feet into a pair of wicker slippers, and shuffled across the office adjoining his bedroom, to the bathroom just beyond, and stood under the icy shower a few minutes, his teeth chattering, fulminating oaths at the coldness of the water.

Still shivering, he hurried into his clothes, and, having pushed the button of the electric bell to announce that he was ready for breakfast, immediately plunged into the business of the day.

While he was thus occupied, the butcher's cart from Bonneville drove into the yard with the day's supply of meat.

This cart also brought the Bonneville paper and the mail of the previous night.