It upreared itself on a bare moon-silvered hill at the right of the road, with a solid state of simplest New England architecture.

It dated back to the same epoch as Doctor Prescott's and Squire Merritt's houses, but lacked even the severe ornaments of their time.
Jerome climbed the shining slope of the hill to the house door, which was opened by Lawyer Means himself; then he followed him into the sitting-room.

A great cloud of tobacco smoke came in his face when the sitting-room door was thrown open.

Through it Jerome could scarcely see Colonel Jack Lamson, in a shabby old coat, seated before the blazing hearth-fire, with a tumbler of rum-and-water on a little table at his right hand.
"Sit down," said Means to Jerome, and pulled another chair forward.
"Quite a sharp night out," he added.
"Yes, sir," replied Jerome, seating himself.
Lawyer Means resumed his own chair and his pipe, at which he puffed with that jealous comfort which comes after interruption.

Colonel Lamson, when he had given a friendly nod of greeting to the young man, without removing his pipe from his mouth, leaned back his head again, stretched his legs more luxuriously, and blew the smoke in great wreaths around his face.