"Ah, before the War," chuckled the philanthropist.
"I don't think I can afford fifteen hundred pounds."
The benevolent one looked disappointed in me. "Dear me," he said, "and I wanted so much to sell it to you. Well, I shall have to give you notice to quit in June. This house must be sold."
"But I can't get another house."
"You can have this house. But surely you have some friend who will advance you fifteen hundred pounds?"
"You don't know my friends. It would be very awkward to be turned into the street."
"You should have a house of your own and be independent. Every man should own his home. Now can't you think of some friend who could assist you?"
"Could you lend me fifteen hundred pounds for a rather speculative investment?" I inquired.
"Since my kindly consideration for a tenant is treated with mockery I give you written notice to leave. A 'For Sale' board will be placed in your garden. A clause in the lease authorises me to do that. I wish you good morning."
Well, I am to be evicted, and, as I'm not an Irishman, no one will care. I shall not lie in wait with a shot-gun for my landlord. But there is no clause in the lease forbidding me from putting up my sale announcement beside the landlord's. It will run:—