"
"You didn't believe any such thing."
"Didn't I? Well, perhaps I didn't. Come up to my room. I think we can
just about squeeze in, if you don't mind sitting close."
Pearson's room was on the third flight, at the front of the house.
Through the window one saw the upper half of the buildings opposite, and
above them a stretch of sky. The bed was a small brass and iron affair,
but the rest of the furniture was of good quality, the chairs were
easy and comfortable, and the walls were thickly hung with photographs,
framed drawings, and prints.
"I put those up to cover the wall paper," explained the host. "I don't
offer them as an art collection, but as a screen. Sit down. Put your
coat on the bed. Shall I close the window? I usually keep the upper
half open to let out the pipe smoke. Otherwise I might not be able to
navigate without fog signals."
His visitor chuckled, followed directions with his coat and hat, and sat
down. Pearson took the chair by the small flat-topped desk.
"How about that window?" he asked. "Shall I shut it?"
"No, no! We'll be warm enough, I guess. You've got steam heat, I see."
"You mean you hear. Those pipes make noise enough to wake the dead. At
first I thought I couldn't sleep because of the racket they made.
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