It was not.
That week, as they inspected an indefinite number of apartments of as many degrees of shabbiness and general undesirableness, Shirley's spirits and chin fell steadily. David's heart, seeing, fell with them.
"Discouraged?" he asked at the end of the last day's hunt.
She nodded wearily. "Landlords are pigs. They want so much for so little. Are you sure there's nothing else we can look at?"
"I'm afraid not. I've gone through the lists thoroughly."
"I wouldn't mind being shabby, if it weren't for the neighborhoods."
She was tired. Her lip quivered. His heart misgave him. He tried to be gay.
"Oh, let's forget it for a while. Let's go out to the club and play nine holes and then have a little twosome at dinner out there."
They went. Low spirits rose on the scented May breeze. The dinner was a success. Afterward they met friends, who were regaled with a humorous account of the week's adventures.
The friends, of course, made suggestions. One in particular knew "the very thing you want, and really absurdly cheap." She was enthusiastic in description. Then the rental was named—fifteen dollars a month more than the budget allowed. David made a great show of taking the address and promised to inspect the "find" on the morrow.