He was safe.

He could dress at leisure, and presently be an early-arriving actor on the Holden lot.
He wondered how soon he could get food at the cafeteria.

Sleeping in this mountain cabin had cursed him with a ravenous appetite, as if he had indeed been far off in the keen air of the North Woods.
He crept from the warm blankets, and from under the straw mattress--in which one of the miners had hidden the pouch of nuggets--he took his newly pressed trousers.

Upon a low bench across the room was a battered tin wash--basin, a bucket of water brought by the little girl from the spring, and a bar of yellow soap.

He made a quick toilet, and at seven-thirty, a good hour before the lot would wake up, he was dressed and at the door.
It might be chancy, opening that door; so he peered through a narrow crack at first, listening intently.