He looked over to Nap, who
fiercely battled with a sofa cushion, and was now disembowelling it
through a rent in the cover. He wondered what Ram-tah's favourite dog
had been like.
He went back to the bedroom to finish his packing. Ram-tah could lie
until the moment came to lock him again in the closet, to leave him once
more in a seclusion to which he had long been accustomed.
He worked leisurely, stowing those almost advanced garments so that they
should show as few wrinkles as possible after their confinement.
Occasionally Nap diverted his thoughts by some louder growl than usual
in the outer room, or by some noisier scramble.
The trunk was packed and locked for the final time. Thrice had it been
unlocked and opened to receive slight forgotten objects. The last to be
placed directly under the lid was the entirely scarlet cravat. He was
equal to wearing it now, but a sense of the morrow's proprieties
deterred him. The stricken mother! In deference to her he laid out for
the morning's wear the nearest to a black cravat that he possessed, an
article surely unassuming enough to be no offence in a house of
mourning.
He fastened the straps of the trunk and sighed in relief. It was a
steamer trunk, and he was to sail on a little old steamer, but other
people had survived that ordeal. Ram-tah would have met it boldly.
Ram-tah!
He stood in the doorway, his attention attracted to Nap, who had for
some moments been more than usually vocal.
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