"How horrid!" said Ben. "But I defy you to think of anything you could want from me. When you've got Mrs. Crosbie eating her head off, how could you need 'The Beck and Call'?"
"We'll see," said Uncle Paul. "Here's my cheque anyway. I want to be your first client."
XI
In the choice of business premises Ben showed not a little sagacity. I know, for I was with her.
She began by consulting a firm of house-agents, which, like so many of those necessary but unsatisfactory organizations, appeared to consist of twins—Messrs. Charger & Charger. What the evolution of a house-agent is, no one has ever discovered, but an addiction neither to industry nor to strict veracity seems to be an essential to their perfected state. All house-agents have youth and eloquence and make an attempt at social ease. The effrontery that accompanies the sale of motor-cars is never quite theirs: they do not actually puff tobacco smoke at their customers while leaning against the wall with their hands in their pockets, but they probably would like to.
Whether we saw either of the principals—either Charger or Charger—we never knew; but the place was full of glib young men who employed the first-person-singular in their conversations, each of whom in turn might have been Charger or Charger, but all of whom probably were not.
It was by disregarding their suggestions that Ben gradually arrived at a decision.
"I am thinking," she said, "of opening an office where advice can be sought on all kinds of domestic problems, and I want it to be in a wealthy residential district but not in a main street."