"
"How do you mean? It's just a fish. You eat it."
"I know. Go into details."
"There aren't any details. You just eat it."
The voice at the other end of the wire purred with approval. "I
never heard anything so splendid. The last man who mentioned pompano
to me became absolutely lyrical about sprigs of parsley and melted
butter. Well, that's that. Now, here's another very important point.
How about wall-paper?"
George pressed his unoccupied hand against his forehead.
This conversation was unnerving him.
"I didn't get that," he said.
"Didn't get what?"
"I mean, I didn't quite catch what you said that time. It
sounded to me like 'What about wall-paper?'"
"It was 'What about wall-paper?' Why not?"
"But," said George weakly, "it doesn't make any sense."
"Oh, but it does. I mean, what about wall-paper for your den?"
"My den?"
"Your den. You must have a den. Where do you suppose you're going
to work, if you don't? Now, my idea would be some nice quiet
grass-cloth. And, of course, you would have lots of pictures and
books. And a photograph of me. I'll go and be taken specially. Then
there would be a piano for you to work on, and two or three really
comfortable chairs.
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