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ОглавлениеGENERAL IMPRESSION OF A COUNTRY-TOWN HOUSE-AGENT'S OFFICE
General Impression, derived from photographs and bills plastering every wall and window within sight, that most of the houses in the neighbourhood are to be Sold, and the remainder to be Let, giving rise to intelligent speculations as to the consequent whereabouts of the previous tenants.
AN EARNEST LADY. You see, what we're looking for is a Home. Something not too large, and yet not too small, and with a good garden, but not too much for one man to manage, and of course a garage, and my husband would like an orchard.
THE CLERK. Quite so, madam. Have you inspected "Lauderdale" or "Fleet Mount"?
THE E. L. (consulting an exhausted-looking piece of paper covered with pencil notes). Let me see, "Lauderdale" was the one with the gas laid on, and we wanted electric light, and anyway the bathroom was downstairs. I'm afraid that's no good. And isn't "Fleet Mount" a house that faces the wrong way?
THE CLERK (with an air of astonishment). The wrong way, madam? Hardly that, I think. Perhaps it doesn't face exactly the way your present residence faces, and that may have confused you, if I may say so?
General Impression that he has accurately gauged the extent to which his client is the victim of a not uncommon feminine inability to Understand the Points of the Compass, as she murmurs something vague about her Husband Liking the Windows to Look South or Something, and then changes the subject.
AN ASTUTE PERSON (who has insisted upon seeing the Head of the Business). Now those houses in Cleveland Road, for instance—I suppose I should have to pay a pretty high rent for one of them?
H. OF THE B. Well, sir, of course they're extremely difficult to get hold of. I assure you that I could let every one of them that passes through my hands a dozen times over. You see they're new houses, with every labour-saving device and modern convenience, standing high on gravel soil, facing south, adjoining the golf-course, and in an excellent residential neighbourhood.
THE A. P. Ah. Not much hope then.
H. OF THE B. I wouldn't say that, sir. Of course, there's a waiting list for them—especially for rent, unfurnished—but I should be pleased to see what we can do for you, if I may have the particulars. I can't promise anything, the demand for unfurnished houses being what it is, but we could bear your requirements in mind.
THE A. P. Well, I'm very glad to hear what you tell me because, as a matter of fact, I'm the owner of a house in Cleveland Road—No. 20—and from what you say, I imagine that you'll have no difficulty whatever in getting me a really good let.
General Impression that the A. P. has scored heavily, which is, however, dispersed after a few tense moments during which the H. of the B. recovers from the shock of his client's duplicity.
H. OF THE B. Of course, you must bear in mind, sir, that I'm talking of six months ago. Things were very different, then. You don't need me to tell you that, sir, I feel sure. Very different, they were, six months ago. We shall be delighted to take down your particulars, and do what we can for you, of course. But now let me see—No. 20—that's the wrong side of the road, isn't it, sir?
General Impression that the H. of the B. has rallied gamely, and may now be confidently backed to win.
A DEAR OLD LADY (in the Outer Office). Thank you so much for sending that young man to show me over Babberley Castle. Most interesting, I'm sure, especially the dungeons. And I should like an order to view The Court, please.
THE CLERK. The Court is a good deal smaller than Babberley, madam, if that's any objection?
D. OLD L. Oh, not the least, thank you. I don't really want to buy a house, you know, but my daughter in India may be coming home next spring, and I thought in case she wanted to settle anywhere in the country, with the children, you know, it would be so nice—though really, I think she likes London best....
General Impression that the Clerk is doomed to hear the whole of her family history sooner or later, and may just as well make up his mind to it at once.
GENERAL IMPRESSION OF A HOUSE REMOVAL
Unspeakably depressing General Impression of innumerable sheets of newspaper spread, apparently at random, over carpetless floors and naked-looking staircases, and pallid walls on which appear sudden irregular squares and oblongs of un-faded colour hitherto concealed by pictures and furniture.
Every floor and ceiling liable to shake suddenly and violently beneath the tread of what appears to be a herd of wild buffaloes, but is in reality The Men. These, in altogether phenomenal Boots, and green baize aprons, finally resolve themselves into three: the Foreman, Bill, and Old Baker, none of whom ever utters a syllable in anything below a shout.
THE FOREMAN. Ease her up, Bill—ease her up.
BILL (with frightful abruptness). Hi! look out!
THE F. Careful, there! Now then—Up she goes!
General Impression that the Grand Piano must somehow have become wedged on the back stairs.
Subsequent anti-climax when Bill appears, carrying a towel-horse and two tin candlesticks.
BILL. Now we shan't be long! What about that Blue Ware in Bedroom No. Five?
The less reputable articles of the Blue Ware from Bedroom No. Five are thereupon escorted down the front stairs, and through the front hall, by Old Baker, progress being broken not infrequently whilst he exchanges mysterious and fragmentary shouts with the Foreman upstairs, during which intervals the Blue Ware reposes conspicuously at his feet.
OLD BAKER. All through, up there?
THE F. The Gent's Mahog. isn't down yet.
OLD B. (thoughtfully). Ar.
THE LADY OF THE HOUSE (who deals with the situation by keeping her hat on, and drinking a Hot Cup of Tea in the Hall instead of having lunch in the ordinary way). Directly the Last Van is full, I think we'd better leave. We can lock up the Back, and perhaps you'll see to the Front, and leave the keys at the lodge.
OLD B. We haven't come to Keys yet, mum—not by a very long way.
THE L. OF THE H. I thought this was the last load?
OLD B. (at the top of his voice). Bill, I say, is this the Last Load?
BILL (also at the top of his voice). Eh?
OLD B. (surpassing himself in vocal effort). This the LAST LOAD, the lady wants to know.
BILL. Ar, I couldn't hardly say, as to that. That's as it may be. Rain's coming down, too.
General Impression that this last catastrophe has probably thrown out the whole thing, and that although The Beds have Gone, we may have to Stay On Another Night after all.
THE COOK (suddenly appearing out of chaos). I'm sorry to say I can't find Pussy, madam. I'm afraid the Men's Boots may have frightened him.
MORE OR LESS EVERYBODY. Puss ... Puss ... Pussy. Where are you, puss?
Answer comes there none. General Impression that Pussy is going to take his revenge on the Men's Boots by hanging up proceedings as long as possible.
