The inside of the house was even huger than I had
thought from the look of the exterior. There were over
thirty bedrooms, Cullingworth informed me, as he helped
me to carry my portmanteau upstairs. The hall and first
stair were most excellently furnished and carpetted, but
it all run to nothing at the landing. My own bedroom had
a little iron bed, and a small basin standing on a
packing case. Cullingworth took a hammer from the
mantelpiece, and began to knock in nails behind the door.
"These will do to hang your clothes on," said he;
"you don't mind roughing it a little until we get things
in order?"
"Not in the least."
"You see," he explained, "there's no good my putting
a forty pound suite into a bed-room, and then having to
chuck it all out of the window in order to make room for
a hundred-pound one. No sense in that, Munro! Eh,
what! I'm going to furnish this house as no house
has ever been furnished. By Crums! I'll bring the folk
from a hundred miles round just to have leave to look at
it. But I must do it room by room. Come down with me
and look at the dining-room. You must be hungry after
your journey."
It really was furnished in a marvellous way--nothing
flash, and everything magnificent. The carpet was so
rich that my feet seemed to sink into it as into deep
moss. The soup was on the table, and Mrs. Cullingworth
sitting down, but he kept hauling me round to look at
something else.
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