"He wants to give us the best he's got. I don't mind a mite. To be sure,
I could get along with one looking-glass to shave myself in, but it's
kind of interesting to know how many some folks think necessary when
they aren't limited. Let's go look in our sleeping-room. Maybe that's a
little less princely."
Aunt Ruth limped slowly across the Persian carpet, and stood still in
the doorway of the room Richard had designated as hers. Uncle Rufus
stared in over her small shoulder.
"Well, well," he chuckled. "I reckon Napoleon Bonaparte wouldn't have
thought this any too fine for him, but it sort of dazzles me. I'm glad
somebody's got that bed ready to sleep in. I shouldn't have been sure
'twas meant for that, if they hadn't. There seems to be another room on
behind this one--what's that?"
He marched across and looked in. "Now, if I was rich, I wouldn't mind
having one of these opening right out of my room. What there isn't in
here for keeping yourself clean can't be thought of."
"Rufus," said his wife solemnly, following him into the white-tiled
bathroom, "I want you should look at these bath-towels. I never in my
life set eyes on anything like them.
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