“Prr-oooomp!” went something which sounded like young thunder coming up in the cellar.
“That’s the double bass at Cheadley’s, sir,” said Mrs Fiddison; “and, as I was a-saying, you’ll find the rooms very quiet, for Waggly’s have given the kettledrum notice. Mrs Waggly said she was sure it was that made her have the bile so bad; and I shouldn’t wonder if it was.”
“And the terms,” said Richard.
“You are sure you don’t play anything brass, sir?” said Mrs Fiddison, looking at him with her head all on one side, as if to say, “Now, don’t deceive a weak woman!”
“Indeed, I am not musical at all,” said Richard, smiling.
“Because it isn’t pleasant, sir, for a landlady who wishes to make things comfortable,” continued Mrs Fiddison, smiling at the cap—which she had now put on her left fist—as if it were a face.
“It can’t be, of course.” said Richard, getting impatient.
“Mr Took, my last lodger, sir, played the rumboon; and sometimes of a morning, when he was doing his octaves, it used to quite make my brain buzz.”
“I think the rooms would suit me,” said Richard, glancing round.
“Thank you, sir,” said Mrs Fiddison, wiping one eye with a scrap of crape. “You can see the marks all over the wall now.”