The floor was bare of carpet, and the chamber of decoration.

But Mr.Fogo hated decoration, and, after slinging his hammock and pushing the window open for air, gazed around on the blistered ceiling and tattered wall-paper, rubbed his hands, and announced that he should be very comfortable.
"Well, sir," said Caleb, as he turned to leave him for the night, "arter all, comfort's a matter o' comparison, as St.La'rence said when he turned round 'pon the gridiron.

But the room's clane as watter an' scourin' 'll make et--reminds me," he continued, with a glance round, "o' what the contented clerk said by hes office-stool: 'Chairs es good,' said he, 'and sofies es better; but 'tes a great thing to harbour no dust.' Any orders, sir ?" "No, I fancy--stop! Is my writing-case here ?" Caleb's anxiety took alarm.
"You bain't a-goin' to do et in writin' sir, surely!" Mr.Fogo stared.
"Don't 'ee, sir--don't 'ee!" "Really, Caleb, your behaviour is most extraordinary.

What is it that I am not to do ?" "Why, put et in writin', sir: they don't like et.

Go up an' ax her like a man--'Will 'ee ha' me?
Iss or no ?' That was ould Dick Jago's way, an' I reckon _he_ knowed, havin' married sax wifes, wan time an' another.