Home-Seekers' Goal - Page 2

should be addressed as the Mordaunt Estate, his duly incorporated title. Wagboom is an irritant to a haughty property-owner's soul."

"Shall we go back and try a counter-irritant?" asked the young man of his companion.

"With a view to renting?" I inquired.

"Yes."

"Do you keep dogs?"

"No," said the young man.

"Or clocks by the hundred?"

"Certainly not," answered the butterfly.

"Or bombs?"

Upon their combined and emphatic negative they looked at each other with a wild surmise which said plainly: "Are they all crazy down here?"

"If you do," I explained kindly, "you might have trouble in dealing. The latest tenant of Number 37 was a fluffy poodle who pushed one of two hundred clocks into the front area so that it exploded and blew away the front wall." And I outlined the history of that canine clairvoyant, Willy Woolly. "The Mordaunt Estate is sensitive about his tenants, anyway. He rents, not on profits, but on prejudice. Perhaps it would be well for you to flatter him a little; admire his style of house painting."

Accepting this counsel with suitable expressions, they returned to the charge, addressed the proprietor of Number 37 by his official title and delivered the most gratifying opinions regarding his artistry.

"That," said the Mordaunt Estate, wiping his painty hands on his knees with brilliant results, as he turned a fat and smiling face to them, "is after the R. Noovo style. I dunno who R. Noovo was, but he's a bear for color. Are you artists?"

"We're house-hunters," explained the young man.

"As for tenants," said the Mordaunt Estate, "I take 'em or leave 'em as I like 'em or don't. I like you folks. You got an eye for a tasty bit of colorin'. Eight rooms, bath, and kitchen. By the week in case we don't suit each other. Very choice and classy for a young married couple. Eight dollars, in advance. Prices for R. Noovo dwellings has riz."

"We're not married," said the young man.

"Hey? Whaddye mean, not married?" demanded that highly respectable institution, the Mordaunt Estate, severely. His expression mollified as he turned to the butterfly. "Aimin' to be, I s'pose."

"We only met this morning; so we haven't decided yet," answered the young man. "At least," he added blandly, as his companion seemed to be struggling for utterance, "she hasn't informed me of her decision, if she has made it."

Bewilderment spread like a gray mist across the painty features of the Mordaunt Estate. "Nothin' doin'," he began, "until--"

"Don't decide hastily," adjured the young man. "Take this