It's very difficult to get really polite
furniture."
The man was evidently stark, staring mad. I still affected not to
observe it, and asked him if that was why he left Simla.
"There were Simla reasons, certainly," he replied. "But you think
I came here for solitude! SOLITUDE!" he repeated, with a laugh.
"Why, I hold daily conversations with any blessed thing in this
house, from the veranda to the chimney-stack, with any stick of
furniture, from the footstool to the towel-horse. I get more out
of it than the gabble at the Club. You look surprised. Listen! I
took this thing up in my leisure hours in the Department. I had
read much about the conversation of animals. I argued that if
animals conversed, why shouldn't inanimate things communicate with
each other? You cannot prove that animals don't converse--neither
can you prove that inanimate objects DO NOT. See?"
I was thunderstruck with the force of his logic.
"Of course," he continued, "there are degrees of intelligence, and
that makes it difficult. For instance, a mahogany table would not
talk like a rush-bottomed kitchen chair." He stopped suddenly,
listened, and replied, "I really couldn't say."
"I didn't speak," I said.
"I know YOU didn't. But your chair asked me 'how long that fool
was going to stay.' I replied as you heard. Pray don't move--I
intend to change that chair for one more accustomed to polite
society.
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