“Why, for your house, of course,” he said.
“But I have no house, Appleby.”
I fancied that he looked at me pityingly.
“Neither have I,” he said; “but I am going to have one.”
“Are you? Where?”
“In the country.”
“Whereabouts in the country?”
“I don’t know yet.” Then, in a tone that was rapt, if not actually reverent, he said, “Yes, some day I’ll have a house in the country.”
“When?”
“I wish I knew,” Appleby said. “As soon as I save enough to build the house and to provide a small income for myself.”