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Reade, Charles, 1814-1884

"A Simpleton"

I will never employ a broker again, sir."
Uncle Philip smiled and looked pleased.
Mrs. Cole caused a diversion by taking leave, and Rosa followed her
down-stairs. On her return she found Christopher telling his uncle all
about the Bijou, and how he had taken it for a hundred and thirty pounds
a year and a hundred pounds premium, and Uncle Philip staring fearfully.
At last he found his tongue. "The Bijou!" said he. "Why, that is a name
they gave to a little den in Dear Street, Mayfair. You haven't ever been
and taken THAT! Built over a mews."
Christopher groaned. "That is the place, I fear."
"Why the owner is a friend of mine; an old patient. Stables stunk him
out. Let it to a man; I forget his name. Stables stunk HIM out. He said,
'I shall go.' 'You can't,' said my friend; 'you have taken a lease.'
'Lease be d--d,' said the other; 'I never took YOUR house; here's quite
a large stench not specified in your description of the property--IT
CAN'T BE THE SAME PLACE;' flung the lease at his head, and cut like the
wind to foreign parts less odoriferous. I'd have got you the hole for
ninety; but you are like your wife--you must go to an agent. What! don't
you know that an agent is a man acting for you with an interest opposed
to yours? Employing an agent! it is like a Trojan seeking the aid of
a Greek.


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