II. PLENTY OF FURNITURE

Every inch of the room was covered with furniture. Chairs stood on couches that lay on tables; mirrors nearly the height of the door were propped, back to back, against the walls, reflecting and making endless the hills of desks and chairs with their legs in the air, sideboards, dressing tables, chests-of-drawers, more mirrors, empty bookcases, washbasins, clothes cupboards. There was a double bed, carefully made, with the ends of the sheets turned back, lying on top of a dining table on top of another table; there were electric lamps and lampshades, trays and vases, lavatory bowls and basins, heaped in the armchairs that stood on cupboards and tables and beds, touching the ceiling. The one window, looking out on the road, could just be seen through the curved legs of sideboards on their backs. The walls behind the standing mirrors were thick with pictures and picture frames.

Mr. Allingham climbed into the room over a stack of mattresses, then disappeared.

“Hop in, boy.” His voice came up from behind a high kitchen dresser hung with carpets; and, climbing over, Samuel looked down to see him seated on a chair on a couch, leaning back comfortably, his elbow on the shoulder of a statue.

“It’s a pity we can’t cook here,” Mr. Allingham said. “There’s plenty of stoves, too. That’s a meatsafe,” he said, pointing to one corner. “Just under the bedroom suite.”

“Have you got a piano?”

“There used to be one,” he said. “I think it’s in the other room. She put a carpet over it. Can you play?”

“I can vamp. You can tell what tunes I’m doing, easily. Is the other room like this?”

“Two more rooms, but I think the piano’s locked. Yes, there’s plenty of furniture,” Mr. Allingham said, looking round with distaste. “Whenever I say 'That’s enough now,’ in she comes with her ‘Plenty more room, plenty more room.’ She’ll find she can’t get in one day, that’s what’ll happen. Or she can’t get out, I don’t know which would be the worst. It gets you sometimes, you know,” he said, “all this furniture.”

“Is she your wife, Mr. Allingham?”

“She’ll find there’s a limit to everything. You get to feel kind of trapped.”

“Do you sleep here?”

“Up there. It’s nearly twelve foot high. I’ve measured. I can touch the ceiling when I wake up.”

“I like this room,” Samuel said. “I think it’s perhaps the best room I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s why I brought you. I thought you’d like it. Proper little den for a man with a bottle on his finger, isn’t it? I told you, you’re not like anybody else. Nobody else can bear the sight of it. Got your cases safe?”

“They’re there. In the bath.”

“You keep your eye on them, that’s all. I’ve lost a sofa. One more suite and I’ll lose my bed. And what happens when a customer comes? I’ll tell you. He takes one peek through the door and off he trots. You can only buy what’s on the top at the moment, see.”