CHAPTER XXVIII

ncy’scushionsmadeitgayandcomfortable.Inacorneranice,tall,lazyoldclockticked—therightkindofaclock.Onethatdidnothurrythehoursawaybuttickedthemoffdeliberately.Itwasthejolliestlookingoldclock.Afat,corpulentclockwithagreat,round,man’sfacepaintedonit,thehandsstretchingoutofitsnoseandthehoursencirclingitlikeahalo. Therewasabigglasscaseofstuffedowlsandseveraldeerheads—likewiseofTomMacMurray’svintage.Somecomfortableoldchairsthataskedtobesatupon.AsquatlittlechairwithacushionwasprescriptivelyBanjo’s.IfanybodyelsedaredsitonitBanjoglaredhimoutofitwithhistopaz-hued,black-ringedeyes.Banjohadanadorablehabitofhangingoverthebackofit,tryingtocatchhisowntail.Losinghistemperbecausehecouldn’tcatchit.Givingitafiercebiteforspitewhenhedidcatchit.Yowlingmalignantlywithpain.BarneyandValancylaughedathimuntiltheyached.ButitwasGoodLucktheyloved.TheywerebothagreedthatGoodLuckwassolovablethathepracticallyamountedtoanobsession. Onesideofthewallwaslinedwithrough,homemadebook-shelvesfilledwithbooks,andbetweenthetwosidewindowshunganoldmirrorinafadedgiltframe,withfatcupidsgambolinginthepanelovertheglass.Amirror,Valancythought,thatmustbelikethefabledmirrorintowhich