en he went he should go absolutely. For
although the people who leave slowly are bad enough, they are as
nothing compared with the people who make false exits and return with
afterthoughts.

The other day the necessity came for me to visit a house agent. Life
has these chequered moments. There is something of despatch and order
wanting about most house-agents, possibly the result of their very odd
and difficult business, which is for the greater part carried on with
people who don't know their own minds and apparently are least likely
to take an eligible residence when they most profess satisfaction with
it. Be that as it may, house agents' offices in general have a want of
definiteness unknown to, say, banks or pawnbrokers'. There is no exact
spot for you to stand or sit; you are unaware as to which of the
clerks is going to attend to you, and the odds are heavy that the one
you approach will transfer you to another. There is also a certain
air of familiarity or friendliness: not, of course, approaching the
camaraderie of the dealer in motor cars, who leans against the wall
with his hands in his pockets and talks to customers through a
cigarette; but something much more human than the attitude of a female
clerk in a post-office.

Being pressed for time and having only the very briefest transaction
to perform, it follows that I was kept waiting for my turn with "our
Mr. Plausible," in whose optimistic hands my affairs at the moment
repose.

Occupying his far too tolerant ear was another client, whose need was
a country house surrounded by enough grass-land for a small stud farm.

This is what happened (he had, by the way, the only chair at that
desk):--

_Our Mr. Plausible (for the fortieth time)._ I understand perfectly. A
nice house, out-buildings and about twenty acres of meadow.

_Client_. Twenty to thirty.

_Our Mr. P_. Yes, or thirty.

_C_. You see, what I want is to breed stock--cattle and horses too.

_Our Mr. P_. Exactly. Well, the three places I have given you are all
well-adapted.

_C_. When a man gets to my age and has put a little money by he may
just as well take it quietly as not. I don't want a real farm; I want
just a smallish place where I can play at raising pedigree animals.

_Our Mr. P_. That's just the kind of place I've given you. The one
near Newbury is probably the most suitable. I should see that first,
and then the one near Alton.

_C_. You understand, I don't want a big farm.