Sometimes we search the advertisement columns in the papers in the hope
of finding something that may do.
"Here's one," I announced one morning; "'For American millionaires and
others. Fifteen bathrooms--' Oh, no, that's too big."
"Isn't there anything for English hundredaires?" said Celia.
"Here's one that says 'reasonable offer taken.'"
"Yes, but I don't suppose we reason the same way as he does."
"Well, here's one for four thousand pounds. That's not so bad. I mean as
a price, not as a house."
"Have you got four thousand pounds?"
"No; I was hoping _you_ had."
"Couldn't you mortgage something--up to the hilt?"
"We'll have a look," I said.
We spent the rest of that day looking for something to mortgage, but
found nothing with a hilt at all high up.
"Anyhow," I said, "it was a rotten house."
"Wouldn't it be simpler," said Celia, "to put in an advertisement
ourselves, describing exactly the sort of house we want? That's the way
I always get servants."
"A house is so much more difficult to describe than a cook."
"Oh, but I'm sure _you_ could do it. You describe things so well."
Feeling highly flattered, I retired to the library and composed.
For the first hour or so I tried to do it in the _staccato_ language of
house-agents.
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