A fresh, sober, and thoroughly wide-awake young man.
"Gurra bed, Spinks," said Mr.Rickman severely to the young man.
"All right, old man." Mr.Spinks lowered his voice to a discreet whisper.

"I say--do you want me to help you find your legs ?" "Wish you'd fin' any par' of me that is n' legs," said Mr.Rickman.
And he went on to explain and to demonstrate to Mr.Spinks the resemblance (amounting to identity) between himself and the Manx arms.
"Three legs, rampant, on the bend, proper.

Amazin', isn't it ?" "It _is_ amazin'." Feigning surprise and interest, Mr.Spinks relieved him of his candle; and under that escort Mr.Rickman managed to attain to the second floor.
Mr.Rickman's room was bared to the glimmer of a lamp in the street below.

He plunged and stumbled through a litter of books.

The glimmer fell on the books, on many books; books that covered three walls from floor to ceiling; books ranged above and beside the little camp-bed in the corner; books piled on the table and under it.