Public-domain ebook
Happy-Thought Hall
Language: en5,701 downloads on Project Gutenberg
Subjects
In: Humour·Novels·British Literature
Public-domain ebook sourced from Project Gutenberg #26281.
Public-domain ebook
Language: en5,701 downloads on Project Gutenberg
Subjects
In: Humour·Novels·British Literature
Public-domain ebook sourced from Project Gutenberg #26281.
The work is a comic sketch of a group of acquaintances wrestling with the absurdities of planning a grand house. It opens with the ever‑ready Cazell dispensing a convoluted, almost bureaucratic recipe for securing a building society loan, then spirals into a lively, back‑and‑forth about title‑deeds, costs, and the exact list of rooms, billiard, Turkish bath, library, even a racquet court, each suggestion punctuated by the recurring “Happy Thought” interjections. The dialogue drifts from practical calculations to whimsical debates over architectural style, regional superiority in trout fishing, and the merits of larches versus firs, all while the narrator sketches plans in “dots” and the party’s imagination builds an elaborate, if impractical, mansion.
The voice is brisk, colloquial, and heavily dialogic, reflecting the late‑Victorian habit of satirising social ambition through rapid repartee. Burnand’s humor relies on exaggerated characters, playful banter, and a mock‑serious tone that lampoons both the building‑society craze and the pretensions of the gentleman‑architect. Readers who enjoy witty, dialogue‑driven sketches of Victorian society, especially those fond of gentle mock‑heroics and the occasional absurdity, will find this amusing and engaging.
The opening · free to read
"Simply enough," says Cazell, who invariably knows everything about anything, only if you act on his information and go wrong, he generally denies warmly afterwards that "he ever said such a thing." "Simply enough," he continues. "You go to the Society, you give 'em some security,--any security will do, and you could get that easily enough." I nod cheerfully, more to encourage him to proceed, than from any feeling of certainty as to the means of obtaining the security. Then, having, satisfactorily to himself, disposed of this difficulty, he continues:--"Well, your security in this case would be your title-deeds of the house and land."
_Happy Thought._--Title-deeds.
"Then," he goes on, as if he'd been accustomed to do this sort of thing every day, "you say how much you want. Then they ask you" (it's becoming quite dramatic), "where's your house? You say .... wherever it is, you know." Cazell puts it in this way, as impressing upon me that before the Building Society I must tell the truth and not pretend to them that my house is in Bedfordshire, for example, when it isn't. "Well," he resumes, "then they ask you what sort of a house do you intend to build? Then, you lay your plan before them."
_Happy Thought._--The Plan of my House.
"They examine it, that is, their architect does ... they inquire about the land ... and then they decide, whether they'll buy it for you, or not."
("_Not_" I should think, but I don't say so.)
"Then," he goes on. "You make the purchase, and hand over the title-deeds. Pay them a rent and a per-centage every year until the whole is paid off, when it becomes yours."
"In fact," I put it, bluffly, to him, "I can build a house without having any money; I mean, by getting the money from the Building Society?"
"Precisely. Any day."
I hesitate. It really is--if Cazell is correct--much better than hiring a house ... or taking lodgings. And what does Cazell think the cost will be?
"Well," says he, "put it at L2,000, the outside." I reflect that the inside, too, will be a considerable expense. "A good, strong house. Why, I knew a fellow build one for L1,500. Just what you want. Then, there's the ground--say at another two. And there you are. Four thousand altogether. Well, you'd pay 'em a mere rent for that, and so much tacked on, which would, each time, reduce the principal. And when you pay your last year of rent and interest, it ought to have come down to a five-pound note."
This is admirable. What a glorious society is the Building Society ... if Cazell is only right.
I will draw out plans at once.
Will he come down with me, somewhere, and choose the land?
"Certainly. Why not try Kent?" he asks. I have no objection to Kent. "But," I suggest, "wouldn't it be better, first, to settle the sort of thing wanted?"
_Happy Thought._--Put it down on paper.
A billiard-room, absolute necessity.
Stables. Do.
"Bath-room," adds Milburd, to whom, on his accidentally looking in, we appeal for assistance.
_Happy Thought._--"While I am about it" (as Milburd says), "why not a Turkish bath?" In the house. Excellent!
What after this?
Milburd suggests smoking-room, and library. Yes. That's all.
Not all: Milburd thinks that a Racquet Court wouldn't be bad, and while I am about it, it would be scarcely any more expense, to have a Tennis Court; and, by the way, a positive saving to utilise the outside walls of both, for Fives.
Query. Won't this cost too much?
"The question is," says Boodels (he has been recently improving his own house), "What is your limit?"
"No, I argue, let's see what an imaginary house will cost, and then I'll have so much of it as I want. Say," I put it, "a house is to cost two thousand----"
"Can't be done for the money," says Boodels, positively.
This is rather damping, but, on consideration, it's just what Boodels would say in anybody's case, except his own.
I pass over his opinion and continue.
"For argument's sake, let's say the house costs four thousand----" (This I feel sounds very pleasant, but what will the Building Society say, and how about the security? These, however, are details for subsequent consideration. One thing at a time: and these extras rather hamper one's ideas. So I say L4,000, and leave it at that.)
"More," says Boodels, "but you might do it for that."
I repeat "For argument's sake." Formula admitted.
Well then, I suppose it to cost four thousand, I can only spend two thousand. Very good, I'll only have, as it were, two thousand pounds' worth of house.
"Half a house, in fact," says Milburd.
This is not the way to put it, but I am, I feel, right, somehow.
I appeal to my friend Jenkyns Soames, who is writing a book on Scientific Economy.
He replies that mine is correct, in theory, if taken from a certain point of view. We admit that this is a sensible way of putting it. And are, generally, satisfied.
"There's one thing I must have," I remember, aloud, as I sit down to draw a first plan, "my Study."
On this plan every room is en suite.
"How about your staircases," says Boodels, "and your kitchen, eh?"
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