My house, which I am trying to let, is a modest little affair in
the country. It has a small meadow to the south and the road to the
north. There are some evergreens about the lawn. The kitchen garden
is large but most indifferently tended; indeed it is partly through
dissatisfaction with a slovenly gardener that I decided to leave. The
nearest town is a mile distant; the nearest station two miles and a
half. We have no light laid on except in a large room in the garden,
where acetylene gas has been installed.
I am telling you these facts as concisely as I told them to the agent.
He took them down one by one and said, "Yes." Having no interest in
anything but the truth, I was as plain with him as I could be.
"Yes," he said, "no gas anywhere but in garden-room."
"Yes, small paddock, about two acres, to the south."
"Yes, one mile from nearest town."