"Really, I think that when we get a sunny day like this, April is almost
our most beautiful month."
Mr. Lynn stared at his companion, who was now slowly descending the
steps.
"Say, about this house," he began, "I guess I'd better take it. It may
not be exactly what I want but it seems to me to be about as near as
anything I am likely to find. We'll go round to the office right away
and fix things up."
Mr. Alfred Burton shook his head doubtfully.
"I don't think I would take it, if I were you, Mr. Lynn," he said.
Mr. Lynn stopped short upon the pavement and looked at his companion in
amazement. The latter had the air of one very little interested in the
subject of conversation. He was watching approvingly a barrowful of
lilac and other spring flowers being wheeled along by a flower-seller in
the middle of the road.
"What an exquisite perfume!" the young man murmured, enthusiastically.
"Doesn't it remind you, Mr. Lynn, of a beautiful garden somewhere right
away in the country--one of those old-fashioned gardens, you know, with
narrow paths where you have to push your way through the flowers, and
where there are always great beds of pink and white stocks near the box
edges? And do you notice--an accident, of course--but what a delicate
blend of color the lilac and those yellow jonquils make!"
"I can't smell anything," the American declared, a little impatiently,
"and I don't know as I want to just now.
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