It
was not until late in October that the right house was found, on Pacific
Avenue, almost at the end of the cable-car line. It was a new house,
large and square, built of dignified dark-red brick, and with a roomy
and beautiful garden about it. There was a street entrance, barred by an
iron gate elaborately grilled, and giving upon three shallow brick steps
that led to the heavily carved door. On the side street was an entrance
for the motor car and tradespeople, the slope of the hill giving room
for a basement kitchen, with its accompanying storerooms and laundries.
Upstairs, the proportions of the rooms, and their exquisite finish, made
the house prominent among the city's beautiful homes. Even Jim could
find nothing to change. The splendid dark simplicity of the drawing-room
was in absolute harmony with the great main hall, and in charming
contrast to the cheerful library and the sun-flooded morning-room. The
dining-room had its own big fireplace, with leather-cushioned ingle
seats, and quaint, twinkling, bottle-paned windows above. On the next
floor the four big bedrooms, with their three baths and three
dressing-rooms and countless closets, were all bright and sunny, with
shining cream-coloured panelling, cretonne papers in gay designs of
flowers and birds, and crystal door knobs.
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