“Phew!” said Fatty to himself, as he sprinted down the road at top speed. “What a nasty suspicious fellow! Well - I didn’t get much information out of him about Milton House. I’d better try the other agent - and this time my dear aunt will have to spend five thousand pounds on a house.”
He marched into the other house-agents, and saw to his relief a boy sitting at a table. The boy did not look much older than himself, and was rather pale and pimply. In the ordinary way Fatty would have greeted him by saying, “Hallo, Pimples!” but this time he thought he had better not.
“Good morning,” said Fatty, putting on his deepest, most important voice.
“’Morning,” said Pimples. “What do you want?”
“Well - it’s not so much what l want as what my Aunt Alicia needs,” said Fatty. “She is desirous of - er - purchasing a property, a secluded property, at about - er - five thousand pounds.”
“Pom-pom-pom, aren’t we high and mighty!” said Pimples. “Who’s your aunt?”
“She’s my uncle’s wife,” said Fatty, and grinned. He took out a bag of big bull’s-eye humbugs and offered Pimples one. Pimples grinned back and took one.
“We aren’t used to people popping in and wanting to spend five thousand pounds on any property hereabouts,” said Pimples, grinning again. “But we’ve got plenty of empty houses if your aunt would like to choose one. There’s Elmhurst and Sunlands, and Cherry Tree and Burnham House, and -”
“Got any down Chestnut Lane?” asked Fatty, sucking his humbug. Chestnut Lane was the road in which Milton House was.
“Yes. House called Fairways,” said the boy, consulting a big book and putting his peppermint into his other cheek.