He could spell out--for he was by no means a proficient reader--the word Rosebury on one of the post-marks; that was enough for him; the letter was tucked neatly into his pocket, and then he went round the room in search of fresh spoil.
He found very little, for the Palace Beautiful showed none of its charms to his eyes; in Dove's opinion it was a poor sort of place--clean, certainly, but what of that?
Dove considered that cleanliness meant poverty.

Dove's tastes lay in the direction of rooms thickly carpeted; he liked two or three carpets, one on the top of the other, on a floor; he liked the rooms to be well crowded with furniture--furniture of the good old mahogany type, heavy and dark--and the windows draped with thick merino.

A room so furnished would, as Dove expressed it, look solid, and mean a heavy purse, and perhaps a nice little nest-egg laid by tidily in one of the drawers or bureaus.

Such a room would be very interesting to examine, but this sitting-room, with its crimson drugget, and its white flooring, its one or two choice engravings on the walls, and its little book-case filled with good and valuable books, was, Dove considered, very shabby indeed.

He found nothing more worth taking, and having given the Pink a kick by way of a parting blessing, he left the room, made his exit again by the roof, and so departed unperceived.