The furniture consisted of half a
dozen chairs, a settee, and an octagon table, all carved out of wood
in pseudo-classical patterns, and painted with a grey wash to
resemble stone.
"It's a fine room," said Mr. Jope, walking up to a statue of Diana:
"but a man couldn' hardly invite a mixed company to dinner here."
"Symonds's f'r instance," suggested Mr. Adams. Symonds's being a
somewhat notorious boarding-house in a street of Plymouth which shall
be nameless.
"You ought to be ashamed o' yourself, Bill," said Mr. Jope sternly.
"They're anticks, that's what they are."
Mr. Adams drew a long breath.
"I shouldn' wonder," he said.
"Turnin' 'em wi' their faces to the wall 'd look too marked," mused
Mr. Jope. "But a few tex o' Scripture along the walls might ease
things down a bit."
"Wot about the hold?" Mr. Adams suggested.
"The cellar, you mean. Let's have a look."
They passed through the hall; thence down a stone stairway into an
ample vaulted kitchen, and thence along a slate-flagged corridor
flanked by sculleries, larders and other kitchen offices. The two
seamen searched the floors of all in hope of finding a cellar trap or
hatchway, and Mr.
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