"Tell him to come in!" I shrieked.
"Yes, your highness. It was only, should he bring them all in here, or leave them in Mr. Carstairs' apartment below."
"All!" gasped Terry.
"Here," I commanded.
Jones staggered in.
You won't believe it when I tell you, because you didn't see it. That is, you won't unless you have inserted the Advertisement of the Ages—the Unique, the Siren, the Best yet Cheapest—in six leading London journals at once.
There were eight bundles wrapped in newspaper. Enormous bundles! Jones had two under each arm, and was carrying two in each hand, by loops of string. As he tottered into the drawing room, the biggest bundle dropped. The string broke. The wrapping yawned. Its contents gushed out. Not only telegrams, but letters with no stamps or post-marks! They must have been rushed frantically round to the six offices by messengers.
It was true, then, what the newspapers said: all London, all England, yearned, pined, prayed for houses. Yet people must already be living somewhere!
Literally, there were thousands of answers. To be precise, Captain Burns, Jones, and I counted two thousand and ten replies which had reached the six offices by noon on the first day of the advertisement: one thousand and eight telegrams; the rest, letters dispatched by hand. Each sender earnestly hoped that his application might be the first! Heaven knew how many more might be en route! What a tribute to the Largest Circulations!
Jones explained his delay by saying that "the stuff was coming in thick as flies"; so he had waited until a lull fell upon each great office in turn. When the count had been made by us, and envelopes neatly piled in stacks of twenty-four on a large desk hastily cleared for action, Terry sent his servant away. And then began the fun!