'They really can't be called
attractive.'
'Those on the top are healthier, no doubt,' was the young man's reply. 'I
noticed that some of the window-glass is broken. That must have been good
for airing.'
Mr. Spicer grew more and more nervous. He opened his little round mouth,
very much like a fish gasping, but seemed unable to speak. Silently he led
the way to the top story, still amid cobwebs; the atmosphere was certainly
purer up here, and when they entered the first room they found themselves
all at once in such a flood of glorious sunshine that Goldthorpe shouted
with delight.
'Ah, I could live here! Would it cost much to have panes put in? An old
woman with a broom would do the rest.' He added in a moment, 'But the back
windows are not broken, I think?'
'No--I think not--I--no--'
Mr. Spicer gasped and stammered. He stood holding the candle (its light
invisible) so that the grease dripped steadily on his trousers.
'Let's have a look at the other,' cried Goldthorpe. 'It gets the afternoon
sun, no doubt. And one would have a view of the garden.'
'Stop, sir!' broke from his companion, who was red and perspiring. 'There's
something I should like to tell you before you go into that room.
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