"Oh!" she said. "Is that your luggage?"
"... Yes. My—er—trunk," he said, starting slowly downstairs, with his burden, nearly as wide as the stone steps. Mrs. Tibbets stepped aside to let him pass, and as he did so, entering through the door to his room, a tiny trickle of dirt sprinkled on the floor from under the edge of the box's lid.
"Goodness gracious!" she said, following him into his room curiously, "Whatever have you got in there? It seems so odd."
Vandor set the box against the cellar wall and turned to her, his face white and angry. "Madam, that is my own personal business, if you don't mind!"
Mrs. Tibbets shrugged. "Well, I just saw a dribble of dirt coming out of it, and thought perhaps I could sweep it out for you—"
Vandor's face went—if anything—whiter. "No!" he roared, in an almost terrified voice. "I—I mean, that won't be necessary. It's supposed to be full of earth. I—I'm a sort of—of botanist. I grow things."
"Hmmph," Mrs. Tibbets sniffed. "You won't be able to grow anything but mushrooms, down here!"
"That's just what I do grow," he said, with a smile of relief, bringing his long pointed canines into view. "Horticulture.... Nothing like it."
"I s'pose not," said his landlady, starting out of his room. "I'll come down tomorrow and kind of straighten things up a little for you, while you're at work. The place certainly needs it."