On a small corner shelf was a large brown earthenware teapot with the words "Advance Australia" done in raised letters. Four enamelled ware egg cups were its companions.
One wall was devoted exclusively to kitchen utensils; new tin kettles predominated, but almost everything was represented.
Opposite this bright array the wall was literally covered with bedding. The centre piece was a mattress; sheets on one side, blankets on the other, pillows above, bolsters below.
But what shocked Gregory more than anything else was a regular trousseau of feminine underclothing, ranged round the door through which he had entered. He blushed hotly and with difficulty suppressed an impulse to bolt without ceremony.
"What do you think of my house, my friend?"
"I think it—er—beautiful, the most wonderful in all the world."
"Yes, I thought you would like it. Do you not like the things my people use? For myself, I like the things the white people use. You put the black man's things in your house. I put the white man's things in my house. We are two friends who have the same thoughts. You buy from the people. I buy from the traders. The traders have promised to bring me many more things. My house is not finished yet. After the rains it will be finished, then you must come and see it again."
When Gregory reached his bungalow after his journey he stripped his walls and packed all his curios in boxes. These he despatched to his father in England, who was very pleased with them.
He replaced his curios by the Hundred Best Pictures, framed suitably in fumed oak.