board, stood in the exact center of the room on the exact center of an "Oriental" rug that was made of a yard of cheap carpet with a border sewn on it; and in the exact center of the table, a very small lamp supported a very large globe-shade that was decorated like a dyed Easter egg.
A "pier mirror of French glass" distorted reflections from the wall opposite the doorway. A chromo on a bamboo easel stood before a pair of lace curtains that were hung to represent a window. Everything was brilliant with varnish, rich with scroll-saw carving, upholstered in imitation plushes and ball-fringe. Carney looked around him in awed silence; and when the salesman turned his back to lead the way into the bedroom, the big truckman furtively smoothed his hair.
That bedroom—from its "golden oak dressing-case and wash-stand to its "elegant, brass-trimmed, steel, enameled bed"—was luxuriously complete. In the dining-room, an "oak" table was set with "decorated English" dishes, as thick as quick-lunch china. An "elegant sewing-machine with a five-year guarantee" stood at the foot of a puffy leather couch. There were forty pieces of tinware in the kitchen, a "golden oak" refrigerator, ten yards of oilcloth—"everything to make home comfortable and a woman happy."
Carney said, with a heavy affectation of nonchalance: "I guess this 'll do." He went down into his bulging trousers pocket for the roll of bills he had drawn from the bank. "I got my truck outside. I 'll jus' take the stuff along with me."
