I shuddered at the expression. If you'd mix ice cream with pickles and beer and herring and lie down for a nap, it might result in a dream castle. "It will be a difficult job, Mr. Stoddard," I said. "This is no ordinary job you've outlined here." "I know that," said Stoddard proudly. "And I am prepared to pay for the extra special work it will probably require." That was different. I perked up a little. "I'll have to turn over these plans to my own draftsman," I told him, "before I can give you an estimate on the construction." George B. Stoddard turned to his wife. "I told you, Laura," he said, "that sooner or later we'd find a contractor with brains and imagination." * * * * * It took fully two months haggling over the plans with Stoddard and my own draftsmen before we were able to start work on the nightmare my clients called their dream castle. Two months haggling in an effort to make Stoddard relinquish some of his more outlandish ideas on his proposed dwelling. But he didn't budge an inch, and by the time we'd laid the foundation for the dream shack, every last building quirk he'd had originally on those "plans" still held. I took a lot of ribbing from contractors in that vicinity once the word got round that I was building Stoddard's house for him. It seems that he'd been to them all before he got around to me. But I didn't mind the ribbing much at first. Even though Stoddard was a barrel full of trouble hanging around the building lot with an eagle eye to see that nothing was omitted, I had already cashed his first few payment checks on the construction. He'd meant what he said about his willingness to pay more for the extra trouble entailed in the mad construction pattern we had to follow, and I couldn't call him stingy with his extra compensation by a long shot. Financially, I was doing nicely, thank you. Mentally, I was having the devil's own time with Stoddard. He didn't know a damned thing about architecture or construction, of course. But he did know what he wanted. Good Lord, how he knew what he wanted! "The basement boiler layout isn't what I had on my plans!" he'd call me up to squawk indignantly. "But it isn't greatly different the way we have it," I'd plead. "Besides, it's far safer than what you originally planned." "Is it humanly possible to put it where I planned it?" my troublesome client would demand. "Yes," I'd admit. "But saf--" "Then put it where I planned it!" he would snap, hanging up. And, of course, I'd have to put it where he'd planned it. The workmen on the job also presented a problem. They were getting fed up with Stoddard's snooping, and going crazy laying out patterns which were in absolute contradiction to sanity and good taste. But in spite of all this, the monstrosity progressed.