"I never saw such a place. But what is my patient to do
with an unfurnished room?"
"Furniture!" snorted Melrose. "Have you any idea, sir, what this house
contains?"
Undershaw shook his head.
Melrose pondered a moment, and took breath. Then he turned to Undershaw.
"You are going back to Pengarth? You pass that shop, Barclay's--the
upholsterer's. Tell him to send me over four men here to-morrow, to do
what they're told. Stop also at the nurseryman's--Johnson's. No--I'll
write. Give me three days--and you'll see."
He studied the doctor's face with his hawk's eyes.
Undershaw felt considerable embarrassment. The owner of the Tower
appeared to him more of a lunatic than ever.
"Well, really, Mr. Melrose--I appreciate your kindness--as I am sure my
patient will. But--why should you put yourself out to this extent? It
would be much simpler for everybody concerned that I should find him
the quarters I propose."
"You put it to Mr. Faversham that I am quite prepared to move him into
other quarters--and quarters infinitely more comfortable than he can get
in any infernal 'home' you talk of--or I shall put it to him myself,"
said Melrose, in his most determined voice.
"Of course, if you persist in asking him to stay, I suppose he must
ultimately decide." Undershaw's tone betrayed his annoyance. "But I warn
you, I reserve my own right of advice. And moreover--supposing you do
furnish this room for him, allow me to point out that he will soon want
something else, and something more, even, than a better room.
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