A little joke, by the way, that never lost in freshness as the
months went by.
At intervals during the days that followed Cheon surveyed his treasures,
and during these intervals the whirr of the flour dredge or egg-beater
was heard from the kitchens, and invariably the whirr was followed by a
low, distinct chuckle of appreciation.
All afternoon we worked, and by the evening the dining-room was
transformed: blue cloths and lace runners on the deal side-table and
improvised pigeon-holes; nicknacks here and there on tables and shelves
and brackets; pictures on the walls; "kent" faces in photograph frames
among the nicknacks; a folding carpet-seated armchair in a position of
honour; cretonne curtains in the doorway between the rooms, and inside
the shimmering white net a study in colour effect--blue and white matting
on the floor, a crimson cloth on the table, and on the cloth Cheon's
"silver" swan sailing in a sea of purple, blue, and heliotrope
water-lilies. But best of all were the books row upon row of old
familiar friends; nearly two hundred of them filling the shelved panel as
they looked down upon us.
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