"Don't you think," Burton suggested doubtfully, "that there might be an opening in the profession for an auctioneer who told the truth?"
Mr. Waddington smiled sadly.
"That's absurd, Burton," he replied, "and you know it."
Burton considered the subject thoughtfully.
"There must be occupations," he murmured, "where instinctive truthfulness would be an advantage."
"I can't think of one," Mr. Waddington answered, gloomily. "Besides, I am too old for anything absolutely new."
"How on earth did you succeed in letting Idlemay House?" Burton asked suddenly.
"Most remarkable incident," his host declared. "Reminds me of my last two sales of antique furniture. This man—a Mr. Forrester—came to me with his wife, very keen to take a house in that precise neighborhood. I asked him the lowest rent to start with, and I told him that the late owner had died of typhoid there, and that the drains had practically not been touched since."
"And yet he took it?"
"Took it within twenty-four hours," Mr. Waddington continued. "He seemed to like the way I put it to him, and instead of being scared he went to an expert in drains, who advised him that there was only quite a small thing wrong. He's doing up some of the rooms and moving in in a fortnight."