matters further with the aged speculator in freehold values.
"Postlethwaite," he said, "you may take it from me if you are wise. Wait …"
Then he added most unprofessionally—
"If I got thirty thousand would you give me half the difference as commission?"
Old Postlethwaite looked up suddenly and brightly like a bird.
"What! Five thousand?" he said doubtfully.
He shook his head. He knew that it was not very professional. He looked to see that no one was coming out of the club, and then he whispered—
"Three thousand, Kirby, three thousand! And that's ten per cent.," he added half regretfully.
"All right," said Mr. Kirby with due solemnity, "you wait!" and with a reassuring smile he dismissed that poor old man to dream of impossible sums.
Whether Mr. Kirby thought that the house could have fetched five hundred pounds—or nothing at all—does not really matter to my story, for most undoubtedly he had no hope or intention of selling the wretched place at all unless some lunatic should clamour for it.
