190 THE COMPLETE SPORTSMAN 



Before setting forth to " view " houses, many 

 people consider it advisable to call at the office 

 of a house-agent, into whose sympathetic ear 

 they may pour the tale of their needs. In this 

 sinister apartment, where the gloom is accentu- 

 ated by the gauze blinds that shroud the 

 windows, the potential customer becomes 

 afflicted with a curious form of mental aphasia. 

 When questioned as to what part of London he 

 prefers to live in, he can only reply vaguely that 

 he doesn't much care, so long as it isn't too far 

 off. " Ah," says the agent hopefully, as he 

 turns the leaves of a formidable ledger, " I think 

 I have the very thing. Brancaster Square. 

 Eight bedrooms, billiard-room, plenteous offices, 

 nominal ground-rent; only twenty minutes from 

 the Marble Arch." 



Why people should always express the situa- 

 tion of their domiciles in terms of the Marble 

 Arch is one of those insoluble mysteries with 

 which no man has yet successfully grappled. 

 The attractions of the Marble Arch are of so 

 elusive a character as to defy detection: it fills 

 no long-felt want in a man's life. He cannot 

 get his hair cut there, or buy a box of cigarettes 

 or a couple of stalls at the Empire. Personally, 

 I have no use for the Marble Arch; I should not 

 care if I never saw it again. And yet w^henever 

 I inquire of some acquaintance where he is now 



