“I have,” said Appleby. “And you’ve no idea how it has bucked me up. I’ve gained ten pounds since I thought of it. And my whole outlook has changed; I’m as happy as a cat in a fish store these days. You see, I’m going to build a perfect house. I take all the building magazines. Every Sunday I go walking in the country looking for sites. And as for my job——”
“You like it now?”
“I do not. I’m still distinctly bored by dolls in gross lots, and Peruvians; but I take them seriously now. They’re pawns in my game, you see. Now, every time I sell a gross of dolls I say to myself, ‘Ah, 144 dolls means a commission to me of $4.77, or enough to pay for one electric outlet in my house.’ Or, if I sell ten gross I say to myself, ‘Good work, old boy! The commission will buy andirons, or bricks for the chimney, or so many gallons of paint.’ I’m three times as good a business man as I was. Indeed, I should be at my office this minute, but I got thinking about revolving doors and could not be easy in my mind till I tried some. I don’t think they’d be appropriate for a country house, do you?”
“Decidedly not.”
He looked relieved.
“Good! Glad you agree. I’ll cross them off.”
He took out a fat memorandum book and crossed words off a list.
“When do you expect to make this dream a reality?” I asked.
A wistful look came to his face.
“If I do it by the time I’m fifty I’ll be lucky,” he said. “There isn’t much money in dolls. It will take years. But”—and he brightened—“I have already set aside enough money to pay for one window with leaded glass, one foot scraper, three electric outlets and part of the coal bin. Have you any ideas about coal bins?”