They went to the Agent, not because they could afford to take a house, but just for curiosity, just to say they'd been, just to supply Ranny with that information that he craved for, now that the passion of the house hunt was upon him. "No good going," said Violet. "The rent will be something awful--why, that pillar alone--" And Ranny, too, said he was afraid the rent wouldn't be any joke. But that was precisely what the rent was--a joke. A joke so good that Ranny took for granted it couldn't possibly be true. Ranny chaffed the Agent; he told him he was trying to get at him; he said you didn't find houses with bathrooms and gardens back and front, going for thirteen shillings a week, not in this country. And the Agent, who was very busy and preoccupied with making notes in a large notebook at his table, mumbled all among his notes that that was right. Of course you didn't find 'em unless you knew where to look for 'em. And that was not because a good 'ouse couldn't be made to pay for thirteen shillings a week, if there was capital and enterprise at the back of the Company that built 'em. This here Estate was the only estate in England--or anywhere--where you could pick up a house, a house built in an up-to-date style with all the modern improvements, for thirteen shillings a week. And Ranny with a fine shrewdness posed him. "Yes, but what about rates and taxes?" They were included. And as the Agent said it calmly, casually almost, making notes in his notebook all the time, Ranny conceived a ridiculous suspicion. He fixed him with a stare that brought him up out of his notebook. "Included? _What's_ included?" "District rate," said the Agent, "poor rate, water rate, the whole bag of tricks for thirteen shillings." That took Ranny's breath away. As for Violet, she said instantly that they must have the house. "Of course you must 'ave it," said the Agent. He might have been an indulgent father. "Why not? Only thirteen shillings. And I can make you better terms than that." It was then that he produced the Prospectus. By this time, as if stirred by Violet's beauty, he had thrown off the mask of indifference; he was eager and alert. They spent twenty minutes over that Prospectus, from which it appeared that the profit of the Estate Company, otherwise obscure, came from what the Agent called the "ramifications" of the scheme, from the miles and miles of houses they could afford to build. Whereas Ranny's profit was patent, it came in on the spot, and it would come in sooner, of course, if he could afford to purchase outright. "For how much?" "Two hundred and fifty." But there Ranny put his foot down. He said with decision that it couldn't be done, an answer for which the Agent seemed prepared. Well, then--he could give him better terms again. Could he rise to twenty-five? Ranny deliberated and thought he could. Well, then--only twenty-five down, and the balance weekly.