So the Bradleys had a bank account. And even before the precious money
was actually paid them, and deposited in the bank, Nancy knew what they
were going to do with it. There was only one sensible thing for young
persons who were raising a family on a small salary to do. They must
buy a country home.
No more city, no more rent-paying for Nancy and Bert. The bank account
had just five figures. Nancy and Bert said that they could buy a lovely
home anywhere for nine thousand, and have a whole thousand left for
furniture and incidentals. They could begin to live!
A week later they began their hunt, and all through the white winter
and the lovely spring they hunted. They asked friends about it, and
read magazines, and the advertisements in the Sunday papers.
Unfortunately, however, in all the Saturdays and the Sundays they spent
hunting for their home, they never saw anything that cost just nine
thousand dollars. There were hundreds of places that cost sixty-five
hundred or seven thousand. After that prices made a clean leap to ten
thousand, to twelve thousand, to fourteen--"No, it's no use our looking
at those!" said the young Bradleys, sighing.
They learned a great deal about houses, and some of their dreams died
young. It was no use, the agents told Nancy, to think about a pretty,
shabby, old farm-house, for those had been snapped up. If she found
one, it would be a foolish investment, because it probably would be
surrounded by unrestricted property. Restrictions were great things,
and all developments had them in large or small degree. There were
developments that obliged the purchaser of land to submit his building
plans to a committee, before he could build.
Nancy laughed that she shouldn't care for THAT. And when restrictions
interfered with her plans she very vigorously opposed them. She told
Bert that she would not consider places that did not allow fences, and
chickens, and dogs, and all the other pleasant country things.
Sometimes, in an economical mood, the Bradleys looked at the six and
seven thousand dollar bargains. It had to be admitted that some of them
were extremely nice. Nice neighbourhoods, young trees set out along the
street--trees about the size of carriage whips--nice sunny bathroom,
nice bedrooms--"we could change these papers," Nancy always said--good
kitchen and closets, gas all ready to connect, and an open fireplace in
the dining room. And so back to the front hall again, and to a rather
blank moment when the agent obviously expected a definite decision, and
the Bradleys felt unable to make it.
"What don't you like about the place?" the agent would ask.
"Well--" Bert would flounder. "I don't know. I'll talk it over with my
wife!"
"Better decide to take it, Mr. Bradley," the agent, whoever he was,
would urge seriously, "We're selling these places awfully fast, and
when they're gone you won't find anything else like them. It's only
because this chap that's been holding this property suddenly--"
"Yes, I know, you told me about his dropping dead," Bert would hastily
remind him. "Well--I'll see. I'll let you know. Come on, kids!"
And the Bradley family would walk away, not too hastily, but without
looking back.
"I don't know--but it was so like all the others," Nancy would
complain, "It was so utterly commonplace! Now there, Bert, right in the
village street, with the trees, is a lovely place, marked 'For Sale.'
Do let's just pass it!"
"Darling girl, you couldn't touch that for twenty thousand. Right there
by the track, too!"
"But it looks so homelike!"
"That old barn in the back looks sort of odd to me; they've got a sort
of livery stable there in the back, Nance, you couldn't stand that!"
"No." Nancy's tone and manner would droop, she would go slowly by,
discouraged and tired until another week end.