one door as I came in at another. We did this two or three times--
and found it amusing. A large cobra in the hall rose up, bowed as
I passed, and respectfully removed his hood.

I found the poor old boy at the end of the passage. It might have
been the passage between Calais and Dover,--he looked so green, so
limp and dejected. I affected not to notice it, and threw myself
in a chair.

He gazed at me for a moment and then said, "Did you hear what the
chair was saying?"

It was an ordinary bamboo armchair, and had creaked after the usual
fashion of bamboo chairs. I said so.

He cast his eyes to the ceiling. "He calls it 'creaking,'" he
murmured. "No matter," he continued aloud, "its remark was not of
a complimentary nature. It's very difficult to get really polite
furniture."

The man was evidently stark, staring mad. I still affected not to
observe it, and asked him if that was why he left Simla.

"There were Simla reasons, certainly," he replied. "But you think
I came here for solitude! SOLITUDE!" he repeated, with a laugh.
"Why, I hold daily conversations with any blessed thing in this
house, from the veranda to the chimney-stack, with any stick of
furniture, from the footstool to the towel-horse. I get more out
of it than the gabble at the Club. You look surprised. Listen! I
took this thing up in my leisure hours in the Department. I had