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Authors: Henry Handel Richardson
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they're non-existent.
The difficulty is going to be to find a house. There are only two vacant in all Barambogie. One of these is in poor repair, and the owner -- the leading draper -- declines to do anything to it. Besides he wants a rental of eighty pounds p.a., on a four years' lease -- which of course puts it out of the question. The other is so small that none of our furniture would go into it. But where there's a will there's a way; and I have an idea -- and I think a brilliant one. There's a fine old Oddfellows' Hall here, which is in disuse and up for auction. It's of brick -- looks like a chapel -- and is sixty feet long by twenty broad. Well, my plan is to buy this, and convert it into a dwelling-house. The body of the hall will give us six splendid rooms, with a passage down the middle, and we can add kitchen, scullery, outhouses, etc. I would also throw out a verandah. There's a fair piece of land which we would turn into a garden. The alterations will be easy to make and not cost much; and there we are, with out and away the best house in the town! -- I fear, though, even under the most favourable circumstances we shall not be able to use all our furniture here. I haven't yet seen a room that would hold your wardrobe, or the dining-room sideboard.
If I decide to stay, I shall lose no time in consulting a builder. You for your part must at once see an agent and put the Hawthorn house in his hands. I feel sure we shall have no difficulty in letting it.
And now I must bring this long scrawl -- it has been written at various odd moments -- to a close. I have appointed to see Rummel again this afternoon, to have another parley with him. Not that I shall definitely fix on anything till I hear from you. From now on I intend to take your advice. But I do trust that what I have told you will prove to you that this is no wildgoose chase, but the very opening of which I am in search. It distresses me more than I can say, when you and I do not see eye to eye with each other. Now take good care of your dear self, and kiss the chicks for me. Forgive me, too, all my irritability and bad temper of the past six months. I have had a very great deal to worry me -- far more than you knew, or than I wanted you to know. It is enough for one of us to bear the burden. But this will pass and everything be as of old, if I can once see the prospect of earning a decent income again. Which I am perfectly sure I shall do here.
Your own
R.T.M.
2
The Sun Hotel,
Barambogie.
My dear Mary,
I must say you are the reverse of encouraging. Your letter threw me into such a fit of low spirits that I could not bring myself to answer it till to-day. It's bad enough being all alone, with never a soul to speak to, without you pouring cold water on everything I suggest. Of course, as you are so down on my scheme of rebuilding the Oddfellows' Hall, I will let this unique opportunity for a bargain slip, and dismiss the idea from my mind. Perhaps, though, you will tell me what we are to do -- witb not another house in the place vacant -- or at least nothing big enough to swing a cat in. As you are so scathing about my poor plans, you had better evolve some of your own.
I had the news about the mine on reliable authority; it was not, as you try to make out, a mere wild rumour. Nor is what I said about people being glad to get rid of Rummel a product of my own imagination. I received more than one plain hint to that effect, in the course of my visits.
However, since I wrote last, I have begun to doubt the wisdom of settling here. It's not the house-question alone. I've seen Greatorex the draper again, and he has so far come round as to agree to re-floor the verandah and whitewash the rooms, if I take the house on his terms. I repeat once more, it is the best house in Barambogie. Six large rooms, all necessary outhouses, a shed fitted with a shower-bath, and a.fine garden -- we might indeed consider ourselves lucky to get it. Rummel lives in a regular
The difficulty is going to be to find a house. There are only two vacant in all Barambogie. One of these is in poor repair, and the owner -- the leading draper -- declines to do anything to it. Besides he wants a rental of eighty pounds p.a., on a four years' lease -- which of course puts it out of the question. The other is so small that none of our furniture would go into it. But where there's a will there's a way; and I have an idea -- and I think a brilliant one. There's a fine old Oddfellows' Hall here, which is in disuse and up for auction. It's of brick -- looks like a chapel -- and is sixty feet long by twenty broad. Well, my plan is to buy this, and convert it into a dwelling-house. The body of the hall will give us six splendid rooms, with a passage down the middle, and we can add kitchen, scullery, outhouses, etc. I would also throw out a verandah. There's a fair piece of land which we would turn into a garden. The alterations will be easy to make and not cost much; and there we are, with out and away the best house in the town! -- I fear, though, even under the most favourable circumstances we shall not be able to use all our furniture here. I haven't yet seen a room that would hold your wardrobe, or the dining-room sideboard.
If I decide to stay, I shall lose no time in consulting a builder. You for your part must at once see an agent and put the Hawthorn house in his hands. I feel sure we shall have no difficulty in letting it.
And now I must bring this long scrawl -- it has been written at various odd moments -- to a close. I have appointed to see Rummel again this afternoon, to have another parley with him. Not that I shall definitely fix on anything till I hear from you. From now on I intend to take your advice. But I do trust that what I have told you will prove to you that this is no wildgoose chase, but the very opening of which I am in search. It distresses me more than I can say, when you and I do not see eye to eye with each other. Now take good care of your dear self, and kiss the chicks for me. Forgive me, too, all my irritability and bad temper of the past six months. I have had a very great deal to worry me -- far more than you knew, or than I wanted you to know. It is enough for one of us to bear the burden. But this will pass and everything be as of old, if I can once see the prospect of earning a decent income again. Which I am perfectly sure I shall do here.
Your own
R.T.M.
2
The Sun Hotel,
Barambogie.
My dear Mary,
I must say you are the reverse of encouraging. Your letter threw me into such a fit of low spirits that I could not bring myself to answer it till to-day. It's bad enough being all alone, with never a soul to speak to, without you pouring cold water on everything I suggest. Of course, as you are so down on my scheme of rebuilding the Oddfellows' Hall, I will let this unique opportunity for a bargain slip, and dismiss the idea from my mind. Perhaps, though, you will tell me what we are to do -- witb not another house in the place vacant -- or at least nothing big enough to swing a cat in. As you are so scathing about my poor plans, you had better evolve some of your own.
I had the news about the mine on reliable authority; it was not, as you try to make out, a mere wild rumour. Nor is what I said about people being glad to get rid of Rummel a product of my own imagination. I received more than one plain hint to that effect, in the course of my visits.
However, since I wrote last, I have begun to doubt the wisdom of settling here. It's not the house-question alone. I've seen Greatorex the draper again, and he has so far come round as to agree to re-floor the verandah and whitewash the rooms, if I take the house on his terms. I repeat once more, it is the best house in Barambogie. Six large rooms, all necessary outhouses, a shed fitted with a shower-bath, and a.fine garden -- we might indeed consider ourselves lucky to get it. Rummel lives in a regular
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