On Wednesday afternoon a man called about taking the house, and returned
in the evening, when old Jack was home. He was a large-featured,
quick-eyed man, with a loud, harsh voice and a self-assertive manner.
Quickly old Jack recognized him as a speaker he had heard at certain
street-corners: a man who was secretary, or delegate, or that sort of
thing, to something that old Jack had forgotten.
He began with the announcement, "I am Joe Parsons," delivered with a
stare for emphasis, and followed by a pause to permit assimilation.
Old Jack had some recollection of the name, but it was indefinite. He
wondered whether or not he should address the man as "sir," considering
the street speeches, and the evident importance of the name. But then,
after all, he was a landlord himself. So he only said, "Yus?"
"I am Joe Parsons," the man repeated; "and I'm looking for a 'ouse."
There was another pause, which lasted till old Jack felt obliged to say
something. So he said, "Yus?" again.
"I'm looking for a 'ouse," the man repeated, "and, if we can arrange
things satisfactory, I might take yours."
Mr. Joe Parsons was far above haggling about the rent, but he had
certain ideas as to painting and repairs that looked expensive. In the
end old Jack promised the paint a touch-up, privily resolving to do the
work himself in his evenings. And on the whole, Mr. Joe Parsons was
wonderfully easy to come to terms with, considering his eminent public
character. And anything in the nature of a reference in his case would
have been absurd. As himself observed, his name was enough for that.