She had packed all her belongings, paid Mrs. Buss, and ordered a “growler” to call at half-past ten. The cabman was punctual. He came into the narrow hall, rubbing his boots on the doormat, a cheerful ancient, a bolster of clothes, and looking to be in perpetual proximity to breathlessness and perspiration. He laid his old top-hat on the floor beside the staircase, and went up to struggle with Eve’s boxes.
Mrs. Buss had let Eve’s rooms, and had nothing to complain of. For the time being her attention was concentrated on seeing that the cabman did not knock the paint off the banisters.
“Do be careful now!”
A red-faced man was descending under the shadow of a big black trunk.
“All right, mum. Don’t you worry, mum!”
He breathed hard and diffused a scent of the stable.
“Them chaps as builds ’ouses don’t think of the luggidge and foornitoore. ’Old up, there!”
A corner of the trunk jarred against the wall and left a gash in the paper. Mrs. Buss made a clucking sound with her tongue.
“There, didn’t I say!”
“Did I touch anythink?”