him to himself. He started up and peered through the gloom.

"Who's there?" he asked, sharply.

"Say, young man, I am waiting for you when you're quite ready," Mr.
Lynn remarked from the threshold. "Queer sort of atmosphere in there,
isn't it?"

Mr. Alfred Burton came slowly out and locked the door of the room.
Even then he was dimly conscious that something had happened to him. He
hated the musty odor of the place, the dusty, unswept hall, and the
general air of desertion. He wanted to get out into the street and he
hurried his client toward the front door. As soon as he had locked up,
he breathed a little sigh of relief.

"What a delicious soft wind!" he exclaimed, removing his unsightly hat.
"Really, I think that when we get a sunny day like this, April is almost
our most beautiful month."

Mr. Lynn stared at his companion, who was now slowly descending the
steps.

"Say, about this house," he began, "I guess I'd better take it. It may
not be exactly what I want but it seems to me to be about as near as
anything I am likely to find. We'll go round to the office right away
and fix things up."

Mr. Alfred Burton shook his head doubtfully.

"I don't think I would take it, if I were you, Mr. Lynn," he said.