Suddenly, in a downstairs window that was brilliantly illuminated by a street lamp not six yards
away, Billy caught sight of a printed notice propped up against the glass in one of the upper
panes. It said "Bed and Breakfast." There was a vase of yellow chrysanthemums, tall and beautiful,
standing just underneath the notice. He stopped walking. He moved a bit closer. Green curtains
(some sort of velvety material) were hanging down on either side of the window. The
chrysanthemums looked wonderful beside them. He went right up and peered through the glass into
the room, and the first thing he saw was a bright fire burning in the hearth. On the carpet in
front of the fire, a pretty little dachshund was curled up asleep with its nose tucked into its
belly. The room itself, so far as he could see in the half darkness, was filled with pleasant
furniture. There was a baby grand piano and a big sofa and several plump armchairs, and in one
corner he spotted a large parrot in a cage. Animals were usually a good sign in a place like
this, Billy told himself; and all in all, it looked to him as though it would be a pretty
decent house to stay in. Certainly it would be more comfortable than The Bell and Dragon.
On the other hand, a pub would be more congenial than a boarding house. There would be beer
and darts in the evenings, and lots of people to talk to, and it would probably be a good bit
cheaper, too. He had stayed a couple of nights in a pub once before and he had liked it. He
had never stayed in any boarding houses, and, to be perfectly honest, he was a tiny bit frightened
of them. The name itself conjured up images of watery cabbage, rapacious landladies, and a
powerful smell of kippers in the living room.