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    He sat down suddenly on the bed, the robe draped across his knees.
    â€œRoom,” he asked, “you’re sure?”
    â€œI am certain,” said the Room.
    â€œAny speculation?”
    â€œYou know very well,” the Room said, stiffly, “that I would not speculate.”
    â€œNo, of course you wouldn’t.”
    â€œSpeculation,” said the Room, “is illogical.”
    â€œYou’re right, of course,” said Blake.
    He rose and put on the robe and moved toward the door.
    â€œYou have nothing more to say?” the Room asked, disapprovingly.
    â€œWhat could I say?” asked Blake. “You know more of it than I do.”
    He went out the door and along the balcony. As he reached the stairway, the House greeted him in its usual cheery morning fashion.
    â€œGood morning, sir,” it sang. “The sun is up and bright. The storm is over and there are no clouds. The forecast is for fair and warm. The present temperature is 49 and before the day is over, it will reach more than 60. A beautiful autumn day has dawned and everything looks fine. Do you have any preferences, sir? How about the decor? How about the furniture? How about some music?”
    â€œAsk him,” the Kitchen bellowed, “what he wants to eat.”
    â€œAnd, also,” said the House, “what do you want to eat?”
    â€œHow about some oatmeal?”
    â€œOatmeal!” wailed the kitchen. “It is always oatmeal. Or it’s ham and eggs. Or it’s pancakes. Just for once, why not something special? Why not …”
    â€œOatmeal,” Blake insisted.
    â€œThe man wants oatmeal,” said the House.
    â€œO.K.,” said the Kitchen, beaten. “One oatmeal coming up.”
    â€œYou must not mind the Kitchen,” said the House. “It labors under a very great frustration. It has all these fancy recipes programmed into its cores and it’s really very good at them, but it almost never gets a chance to use a single one of them. Sometime, sir, just for the hell of it, why don’t you let the Kitchen …”
    â€œOatmeal,” said Blake.
    â€œOh, very well, sir. The morning paper is in the P.G. tray. But there’s not much news this morning.”
    â€œIf you don’t mind,” said Blake, “I’ll take a look myself.”
    â€œQuite, sir. As you wish, sir. I was only attempting to be informative.”
    â€œJust try,” said Blake, “not to overdo it.”
    â€œSorry, sir,” said the House. “I will watch myself.”
    In the entry hall he picked up the paper and tucked it underneath his arm. He walked to a side window to look out.
    The house next door was gone. The platform stood empty.
    â€œThey left this morning,” said the House. “About an hour ago. A short vacation trip, I gather. We all are glad …”
    â€œWe?”
    â€œWhy, yes. All the other houses, sir. We are glad they’re only to be gone for a short time and will be coming back again. They are such good neighbors, sir.”
    â€œYou houses, then, consider yourself neighbors.” spoken to them.”
    â€œOh,” said the House, “not the people, sir. I wasn’t talking of the people. It was the house itself I was thinking of.”
    â€œYou houses, then, consider yourself neighbors.”
    â€œWhy, of course we do. We visit among ourselves. We talk back and forth.”
    â€œJust exchanging information.”
    â€œNaturally,” said the House. “But now about the decor.”
    â€œIt’s all right as it is.”
    â€œIt’s been this way for weeks.”
    â€œWell,” Blake said, thoughtfully, “you might do something about that wallpaper in the dining room.”
    â€œIt’s not the wallpaper, sir.”
    â€œI know it’s not. The point I want to make is that I’m getting a little bored watching that rabbit nibble clover.”
    â€œWhat would