“Thank God for that!” said Mrs Chittenden, putting down the teapot. “Mr Dillet, was it?”
“Yes, it was.”
“Well, I’d sooner it was him than another.”
“Oh, I don’t know, he ain’t a bad feller, my dear.”
“May be not, but in my opinion he’d be none the worse for a bit of a shake up.”
“Well, if that’s your opinion, it’s my opinion he’s put himself into the way of getting one. Anyhow, we shan’t have no more of it, and that’s something to be thankful for.”
And so Mr and Mrs Chittenden sat down to tea.
And what of Mr Dillet and of his new acquisition? What it was, the title of this story will have told you. What it was like, I shall have to indicate as well as I can.
There was only just room enough for it in the car, and Mr Dillet had to sit with the driver: he had also to go slow, for though the rooms of the Doll’s House had all been stuffed carefully with soft cotton-wool, jolting was to be avoided, in view of the immense number of small objects which thronged them; and the ten-mile drive was an anxious time for him, in spite of all the precautions he insisted upon. At last his front door was reached, and Collins, the butler, came out.
“Look here, Collins, you must help me with this thing—it’s a delicate job. We must get it out upright, see? It’s full of little things that mustn’t be displaced more than we can help. Let’s see, where shall we have it? (After a pause for consideration). Really, I think I shall have to put it in my own room, to begin with at any rate. On the big table—that’s it.”