words in the
language, occupied. Hence I was in a bad temper. None the less, when a
little man in black suddenly appeared before me and begged to be allowed
to share my cab (and its fare), I agreed. He began to talk at once, and
having disposed of the weather and other topics on which one can be
strictly and politely neutral, he said that his business took him a good
deal into unfamiliar places.

Being aware that he wished it, I asked him what his business was.

"I'm an unsettler," he said.

"An unsettler?"

"Yes. It's not a profession that we talk much about, because the very
essence of it is secrecy, but it's genuine enough, and there are not a
few of us. Of course, we do other things as well, such as insurance
agency, but unsettling pays best."

"Tell me about it," I said.

"Well," he explained, "it's like this. Say you are thinking of moving
and you want another house. You can't find an empty one that you like,
of course. No one can. But you differ from other persons in being
unwilling to make a compromise. You will either wait till you find one
that you do like, or you will go without. Meanwhile you see plenty of
occupied houses that you like, just as every one else does. But you
differ from other persons in being unwilling to believe that you can't
have what you want. Do you follow me?"

Naturally I followed him minutely, because he was describing my own
case.

"Very well, then," he continued. "This makes the unsettler's
opportunity. You return to the agent and tell him that the only house
you liked is (say) a white one at East Windles.

"'It was not one on your list,' you say; 'in fact, it was occupied. It
is the house on the left, in its own grounds, just as you enter the
village. There is a good lawn, and a wonderful clipped yew hedge.'

"'Oh yes,' says the agent, 'I know it: it used to be the Rectory.'

"'Who lives there?' you ask.

"'An old lady named Burgess,' says the agent--'Miss Burgess.'

"'Would she leave?' you ask.

"'I should very much doubt it,' says the agent, 'but I could, of course,
sound her.'

"'I'll give you twenty-five pounds,' you say, 'if you can induce her to
quit.' And off you go.

"It is then that the unsettler comes in. The agent sends for me and
tells me the story; and I get to work. The old lady has got to be
dislodged. Now what is it that old ladies most dislike? I ask myself. It
depends, of course; but on general principles a scare about the water is
safe, and