8 o 
HOUSE AND GARDEN 
August, 1913 j 
was only when Mr. Swift left the train at Janey that he dis¬ 
covered that his close attention had been more for the purpose of 
detecting some statement which rang false, more of an attempt 
to find the “nigger-in-the-woodpile,” than any real hope or belief 
that the casual acquaintance could solve his problem. 
But he was dogged enough to follow up all his clews, and so 
on the next Saturday half-holiday he met Mr. Swift in the station 
and took the train to Castleton. 
The run was forty-nine minutes — his regular commuting run 
from Willisport thirty-eight. 
“It doesn't seem as if eleven 
minutes ought to make all that 
difference in price,” mused Mr. 
Spence. 
But he saw a great light when 
he got off at Castleton. 
“Why — why — where’s your 
town?” he inquired, blankly. 
“There isn’t any — we are not 
selling lots in a town!” answered 
Mr. Swift. “Did you ever figure 
what a town would be like where 
every house has at least five acres 
of ground? The plot I want you 
to see is two miles from here.” 
“But — two miles ! Man, I could 
never get up, walk two miles, and 
then take an hour’s run to the 
city !” 
“Certainly not!” agreed Mr. 
Swift. “You are not supposed to 
walk. Use your car. We are 
going to use mine — there it is — ” 
pointing to a dark green, shining- 
automobile. 
At this initiating information 
Spence lapsed into an emphatic, if 
impolite exclamation: “Have I 
wasted half a day coming out here 
to find I’ve got to have a car to 
invest in your precious suburb? 
Why, man, I wouldn’t own one of 
those undemocratic, purse-proud, 
expensive contraptions if you gave 
it to me! When does the first train go back to the city?" 
To his surprise, Mr. Swift made no show of anger or dis¬ 
pleasure. 
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” he said. “I’m sorry, too, there 
isn’t any train until — let’s see — 3.24—hour and forty minutes. 
Plenty of trains coming the other way — look at the cars waiting 
in that shed over there!” and Mr. Swift pointed to an open 
structure where stood a dozen or more cars, watched over by an 
attendant. “We have lots of men out here, living from two to 
five miles from the station,” Mr. Swift went on, “who leave 
their cars here when they go into town and pick them up on the 
way out. Others are driven in by their wives or older children, 
who then call for the man of the house at evening train time. 
They joined in, erected this shed, and share in the watchman's 
wages— costs about $2.00 a month, I believe. 
“But as long as you are here,” continued Mr. Swift, “even if 
you don’t want to consider a place which needs an auto, won’t 
you come and look at it? It’s really worth seeing — I couldn’t 
afford to bring people out here to see a country place for reason¬ 
able money and then not show them something worth while. You 
can believe me when I say you won’t waste your time if you come, 
and I’ll bring you back for that train, sure.” 
So Mr. Spence went. There was nothing else to do. He did not 
fancy sitting around a station for the rest of the afternoon, and 
while he heartily disliked the idea of owning a car, he had no 
special objections to riding in one. So he went, and found that 
two miles on a good road for a good car was a matter of five min¬ 
utes without any trouble at all. He could hardly believe that he 
was really “there” until Mr. Swift skilfully piloted the car be¬ 
tween two stone pillars, up a winding driveway, and stopped in 
front of — the house of Mr. Spence’s dreams. 
There it was — big, broad porch, great high trees in front, 
smooth green lawn for the kiddies to play on, a swing hanging 
from a branch, with a worn place 
beneath in the grass, showing 
where little feet had kicked their 
owner heavenwards into the joy 
of swinging play; a neat garage 
behind, and—best of all — a flower 
garden in front, that couldn’t be 
j umped across endwise, and a vege¬ 
table garden looking as if it might 
really grow vegetables, in the rear. 
More and more — -there was a pig¬ 
pen, a hen-house, a chicken-run, 
and, crowning joy, a small orchard 
of trees old enough to bear. 
Nor was the house less attrac¬ 
tive. There were nine good-sized 
rooms, two baths, and an attic. 
The house was modern, had good 
but not elaborate fixtures, and— 
“What sort of light is this, any¬ 
way?” asked Mr. Spence, investi¬ 
gating. “Surely you don’t have 
gas in this out of the way place!” 
“No,” said Mr. Swift, “we 
don’t. This house is fitted for 
either acetylene or for a private 
electric lighting plant. The pres¬ 
ent owner has been using the acet¬ 
ylene, because, as he says himself, 
a hired man can run a generator, 
but it takes ordinary mechanical 
brains to oversee a house electric 
plant, and he is one of the kind 
who can’t drive a nail straight or 
without hitting his hands, let alone understanding such a plant.” 
“Then, how does he run an automobile?” asked Spence, turn¬ 
ing swiftly and suspiciously. 
“Oh, you don’t have to know anything about mechanics to run 
a car!” answered Mr. Swift. “You evidently haven’t investi¬ 
gated the modern car much. Five years ago you did have to be a 
mechanic, indeed, to get along with a motor — now they are so 
simple and fool-proof they don’t need much attention. I don’t 
know even what my gear case or differential looks like inside. I 
take my car into a garage once in two weeks or so, and they oil 
it up — make a few adjustments — I never bother my head with its 
works, any more than I do with the telephone or typewriter in 
the office. There are three excellent garages within two miles of 
Castleton station, and they are much cheaper in their prices than 
the city garages.” 
Mr. Spence was still suspicious. But Mr. Swift was evidently 
sincere, and Spence went on with his examination of the house. 
Mr. Swift was wise in his day and generation. It did not take 
long for his trained eye to see that Mr. Spence was interested. 
It was evident that here was something the prospective customer 
had not seen before. 
“And the price of all this? What’s the figure on this prop- 
(Continued on page 112) 
There it was — broad porch, great trees, and, best of all, a 
garden that could not be jumped across endwise 
