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"The Wrong Box"

The rooms were
small, the ceilings low, the furniture merely nominal; a strange chill
and a haunting smell of damp pervaded the kitchen; and the bedroom
boasted only of one bed.
Morris, with a view to cheapening the place, remarked on this defect.
'Well,' returned the man; 'if you can't sleep two abed, you'd better
take a villa residence.'
'And then,' pursued Morris, 'there's no water. How do you get your
water?'
'We fill THAT from the spring,' replied the carpenter, pointing to a big
barrel that stood beside the door. 'The spring ain't so VERY far off,
after all, and it's easy brought in buckets. There's a bucket there.'
Morris nudged his brother as they examined the water-butt. It was
new, and very solidly constructed for its office. If anything had been
wanting to decide them, this eminently practical barrel would have
turned the scale. A bargain was promptly struck, the month's rent was
paid upon the nail, and about an hour later the Finsbury brothers might
have been observed returning to the blighted cottage, having along with
them the key, which was the symbol of their tenancy, a spirit-lamp, with
which they fondly told themselves they would be able to cook, a pork pie
of suitable dimensions, and a quart of the worst whisky in Hampshire.


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