After breakfast on a certain July morning, Doggie, attired in a green shot-silk dressing-gown, entered his own particular room and sat down to think. In its way it was a very beautiful room—high, spacious, well-proportioned, facing southeast. The wallpaper, which Doggie had designed himself, was ivory white, with trimmings of peacock blue. Vellum-bound books filled the cases; delicate watercolors adorned the walls. On his writing-table lay an ivory set: inkstand, pen-tray, blotter, and calendar. Bits of old embroidery, harmonizing with the peacock shades, were spread here and there. A spinet inlaid with ivory formed the center for the arrangement of other musical instruments—a viol, mandolins, and flutes. One tall, closed cabinet was devoted to Doggie's collection of wallpapers. Another held a collection of little dogs in china and porcelain—thousands of them; he got them from dealers from all over the world.

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