Whereupon
she of the vinegar countenance had sniffed. I loathe
landladies who sniff.
My trunk and trusty typewriter were sent on to my new
home at noon, unchaperoned, for I had no time to spare at
that hour of the day. Later I followed them, laden with
umbrella, boxes, brown-paper parcels, and other
unfashionable moving-day paraphernalia. I bumped and
banged my way up the two flights of stairs that led to my
lake view and my bed, and my heart went down as my feet
went up. By the time the cavernous bedroom was gained
I felt decidedly quivery-mouthed, so that I dumped my
belongings on the floor in a heap and went to the window
to gaze on the lake until my spirits should rise. But it
was a gray day, and the lake looked large, and wet and
unsociable. You couldn't get chummy with it. I turned
to my great barn of a room. You couldn't get chummy with
that, either. I began to unpack, with furious energy.
In vain I turned every gas jet blazing high. They only
cast dim shadows in the murky vastness of that awful
chamber. A whole Fourth of July fireworks display, Roman
candles, sky-rockets, pin-wheels, set pieces and all,
could not have made that room take on a festive air.
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