Oppenheim in a new vein--a pure comedy.
once more at his companion curiously.
"Say, I'm not quite sure that I can size you up, even now," he said. "At first I thought that you were a rare little hustler, right on the job. I was set against that house and yet you almost persuaded me into taking it. What's come over you, anyway?"
Mr. Burton shook his head dubiously.
"I am afraid that it is no use asking me," he replied, "for I really don't quite know myself."
Mr. Lynn still lingered. The longer he looked at his companion, the more he appreciated the subtle change of demeanor and language which had certainly transformed Mr. Alfred Burton.
"It was after you came out of that little room," he continued, meditatively, "where that Oriental fellow had been shut up. The more I think of it, the odder it seems. You were as perky as mustard when you went in and you've been sort of dazed ever Since you came out."
Mr. Burton lifted his hat.
"Good day, sir!" he said. "I trust that you will find a residence to suit you."
Mr. Lynn strolled of
Alight-duty fantasy. Biggest problem? They never plant the beans.
Magic beans from the East give disreputable real estate agents an uncompromising devotion to truth, beauty, and dressing properly.
Different from Oppenheim's other books, in that it doesn't seem to be a thriller.