The Picky Buyer of Seattle

One of our real estate agents was called on the other day by a tall man with a wool hat, who said he had cash to pay for a farm, provided he could get one to suit. The agent smiled him to a seat and brought out his register of descriptions. He had many farms listed in his books and he had no doubt that he could suit the would-be purchaser. The stranger remarked: 'What I want is a farm of about three hundred acres.' 'I have it,' replied the dealer. 'I would like about six large hills on it.' 'Here you are—here's a farm with exactly six hills on it.' 'And I'd like a lake very near the center.' 'Here you are—here's a farm with a lake exactly in the center.' 'And I want a big natural cavern in one of the hills.' 'Here you are. There's a cave on this farm that can't be beat.' The stranger drew a long breath, and went on: 'I want a farm of three hundred acres, but one hundred acres must be marsh land.' 'Here she is,' was the reply. 'Just three hundred acres on the farm, and just one hundred acres of it is marsh land.' 'I must have a waterfall twenty-six feet high on the farm,' continued the stranger. 'Here you are. This farm has a natural waterfall of twenty-five feet and eleven inches. I don't suppose an inch more or less on a waterfall amounts to much.' 'Well, no, but I want a windmill on one of the hills.' 'That was put up last year,' was the calm reply. The stranger finally said, 'There must be a Baptist church right across the road from the house.' 'One built last summer, sir.' 'It must be a brick church.' 'So it is.' 'Has it an organ?' 'It has.' 'Then I can't buy a farm from you,' said the stranger, rising to go. 'If there is anything I hate, it is a church organ, and you can see for yourself that I would be in a state of continual misery. The farm suits me first rate, but I can't stand that organ.' Just what estimate these two men placed upon each other's veracity as they separated will never be known.