the interloper was interloping on a short lease when
I bought the long lease over his head. It is also true that by an awkward
and absurd convention I have to restore the old home to the ground landlord
in 1941. But who cares about what is going to happen in 1941? The Coalition
may have come to an end by that time, and the first Labour Government,
under Lord NORTHCLIFFE or Mr. JACK JONES, may be in power. Some bricklayer,
in a mood of artistic frenzy, may have designed the plan of a new brick and
had it passed by the Ministry of Housing. DEMPSEY may have met CARPENTIER.

No, the trouble is about the interloper. It appears that, having the
remainder of a lease to run, he can go on anteloping (you know what I mean)
for two years more if he likes. To do him justice he admits that the place
is mine and wants to leave it. He has no real love for the priceless old
spot. All that he asks is somewhere better to go to. So I am gladly doing
my best to help him. I send him notices of forty-roomed Tudor mansions,
which seem to abound in the market, mansions with timbered parks,
ornamental waters, Grecian temples, ha-has, gazebos, herds of graceful
bounding gazebos, and immediate possession. I do more than this. I send him
extravagant eulogies of lands across the seas, where the grapes grow
larger, the pear-trees blossom all the year round and separate thrushes
laid on to each estate never cease to sing. I suggest the advantages of the
mercantile marine and a life on the rolling main, of big game shooting,
polar exploration, and the residential attractions of Constantinople,
Berlin, Dublin and Vladivostok.

Concurrently with this I try hard to cultivate in him a certain distaste
for the dear old home. I walk up and down the road in front of it with a
pair of field-glasses, and, if I see that a little chip has fallen off
anywhere or the paint on the gate has been scratched, I call on him at
once.

"I happened to be passing the demesne," I say, "when I noticed a rather
serious item of dilapidation," or "A word with you about the messuage; it
looks a trifle off colour to-day. Have you had it blistered lately?" And
this worries him a good deal, because he is responsible for all repairs.

I do not fail to point out to my friends, either, that this is my
well-known family seat, and I persuade them from time to time to go and ask
for me at the door. "What, isn't he living here _yet_?" I get them to say,
with a well-feigned surprise. "It