Jan’s study had also been visited in his absence. A folding chair, tied up with string, stood against the wall, with billows of bright green creton bulging through string and woodwork; an absurd bit of Brussels carpet covered every inch of the tiny floor; and it also was an aggressive green, though of another and a still more startling shade. “Curtains not come yet,” observed Shockley. “I suppose they’re to be green too?” “I don’t know,” replied Rutter. “I left it to them.” “I rather like your greens,” said Shockley, opening the long soft parcel. “Why, you’ve gone and got a red table-cloth!” “It’s their doing, not mine,” observed Jan, phlegmatically. “I wonder you don’t take more interest in your study,” said Shockley. “Most chaps take a pride in theirs. Red and green! It’ll spoil the whole thing; they don’t go, Tiger.” Jan made some show of shaking off his indifference in the face of this kindly interest in his surroundings. “They might change it, Shockley.” “I wouldn’t trust ’em,” said that authority, shaking and scratching a bullet head by turns. “They’re not too obliging, the tradesmen here—too much bloated monopoly. If you take my advice you’ll let well alone.” “Then I will,” said Jan, eagerly. “Thanks, awfully, Shockley!” “Not that it _is_ well,” resumed Shockley, as though the matter worried him. “A green table-cloth’s the thing for you, Tiger, and a green table-cloth you must have if we can work it.” “It’s very good of you to bother,” said Jan, devoutly wishing he would not. Shockley only shook his head. “I’ve got one myself, you see,” he explained in a reflective voice, as he examined the red cloth critically. “It’s a better thing than this—better taste—and green—but I’d rather do a swop with you than see you spoil your study, Tiger.” “Very well,” said Jan, doubtfully. Shockley promptly tucked the new table-cloth under his arm. “Let’s see your tolly-sticks!” said he, briskly. “Tolly-sticks?” “Candle-sticks, you fool!” Jan unpacked them, noting as he did so that the fatherly tone had been dropped. “I suppose you wouldn’t like a real old valuable pair instead of these meagre things?” “No, thanks, Shockley.” “Well, anyhow you must have a picture or two.” “Why must I?” asked Jan. He had suddenly remembered Carpenter’s story of the seven-and-sixpenny chair. “Because I’ve got the very pair for you, and going cheap.” “I see,” said Jan, in his dryest Yorkshire voice. “Oh, _I_ don’t care whether you’ve a study or a sty!” cried Shockley, and away he went glaring, but with the new cloth under his arm. In a minute he was back with the green one rolled into a ball, which he flung in Jan’s face. “There you are, you fool, and I’m glad you like your own colour!” he jeered as he slammed the door behind him.