Steen had been right, then. Steen, with his shoes on the wrong feet, and with something else?with his different way of talking now. Six weeks ago, when Steen had come into Homer's office, he had been stiff and formal, awkward, yet striving for preciseness. And now he was easy in his manner, now he put his feet up on the desk, now he talked slangily.
There was no one living in the houses, Homer admitted to himself. No one had ever lived in them. He had leased all fifty of them and no one had moved in.
And it had a fishy smell?it had a terribly fishy smell.
On his way out, he stopped at Steen's office. The place was locked up.
The old gateman opened the gate and waved at him from the window of his kiosk.
Back in his own office, Homer took out of a drawer the list of leases he had drawn. He phoned Morgan, the first name on the lease.
'That number has been changed,' the operator told him. She gave him the new number and he dialled it.
'Happy Acres,' said a singsong operator-voice.
'Huh?'
'Happy Acres,' the voice sang. 'Whom did you wish, sir?'
'The Morgan residence.'
He waited and it was Morgan who answered.
'Homer Jackson. Just checking. How do you like the house? Are you getting on okay?'
'Perfectly,' Morgan told him happily. 'I've been meaning to come in and thank you for putting me onto this.'
'Everything is really all right?'
'Couldn't be better. I hardly ever go into my office now. I stay out here and work in the amusement room. I go fishing and I take walks. The wife and kids are just as pleased as I am.'
Morgan lowered his voice. 'How do you guys manage this? I've tried to figure it out and I can't.'
'It's a secret,' Homer replied, thinking on his feet. 'The answer to the housing problem.'
'Not that I care,' Morgan said. 'Just curious, you know. I'll be dropping in one day. I'll bring you something.'
'Glad to see you,' said Homer.
He called the Happy Acres number and asked for another family. He went halfway through the list. He talked mostly to the women, although some of the men were home. They were not only happy, but enthusiastic. They asked him jokingly how he got away with it.
When he finished, he was glassy-eyed.
He went down to the drugstore for a cup of coffee. When he returned, he'd made up his mind. He took out his waiting list and began making calls.
'There just happens to be a vacancy in Happy Acres if you are interested.' They were.
He reminded them about the cars. They said they'd take care of that matter first thing in the morning.
By supper-time, he'd leased twenty of the houses by making twenty phone calls.
'There's something wrong,' Homer said to his wife. 'But there's money in it.'
'It's just that you don't understand,' said Elaine. 'There may be a perfectly good reason why Mr. Steen can't explain it all to you.'
'But it means we have to give up our trip to Europe. And after we had got our passports and all.'
'We can go to Europe later. You'll never get a chance like this again.'
'It worries me,' said Homer.
'Oh, you're always worried over things that never happen. Mr. Steen is satisfied and the people you have leased to are, so why are you worrying?'
'But where are these people? They aren't living in the houses and yet they talk as if they were. And some of them asked me how I got away with it or words to that effect. They asked it as if they admired me for being slick in some kind of shady deal, and if it turns out that I am smart, I'd like to know just how I managed…'
'Forget it,' Elaine said. 'You aren't smart and you never were. If I didn't keep behind you, pushing all the time…'
'Yes, dear,' said Homer. He'd heard it all before.
'And quit your worrying.'
He tried to, but he couldn't.
The next morning, he drove to Happy Acres and parked across the road from the gate. From seven o'clock until nine, he counted forty-three cars coming out of the development. Some of the people in them he recognized as those he had leased the houses to. Many of them waved to him.
At 9:30, he drove in through the gate and went slowly down the road.
The houses still were empty.
When he got back to the office, there were people waiting for him. The block was clogged with cars that gleamed with newness.
He did a rushing business. No one, it turned out, was interested in seeing the houses. Most of them had seen them earlier. All they wanted was a lease. He filled out the forms as rapidly as he could and raked in the cheques and cash.
Some other people showed up. Word had got around, they said, that there were vacancies in the Happy Acres tract. Yes, he said, there were. Just a few of them. He reminded them about the cars.
The last man in line, however, did not want to lease a house.
'My name is Fowler,' he said. 'I represent the Contractors' and Builders' Association. Maybe you can help me.'
'I've got another house, if that is what you want,' said Homer.
'I don't need a house. I have one, thanks.'
'Pay you to sell it and get in on this deal. The newest thing in housing. A completely new concept.'
Fowler shook his head. 'All I want to know is, how do I get hold of Steen?'
'No trouble at all,' said Homer. 'You just go out to Happy Acres. He has an office there.'
'I've been out there a dozen times. He is never in. Usually the office is locked.'
'I never have any trouble finding him, although I don't see him often. I'm too busy handling the property.'
'Can you tell me how he does it, Mr. Jackson?'
'How he does what? How he is always out?'
'No. How he can sell a house for five thousand dollars.'
'He doesn't sell. He leases.'
'Don't pull that one on me. It's the same as selling. And he can't build for anywhere near that kind of money. He's losing a good twenty thousand or more on every house out there.'
'If a man wants to lose his money…'
'Mr. Jackson,' said Fowler, 'that is not the point at all. The point is that it's unfair competition.'
'Not if he leases,' Homer pointed out. 'If he sold, it might be.'
'If this keeps on, it'll put every contractor in the area out of business.'
'That,' said Homer, 'would be no more than simple justice in a lot of cases. They throw up a shack with plenty of glitter and charge a fancy price and…'
'Nevertheless, Mr. Jackson, none of them intend to be put out of business.'
'And you're going to sue,' guessed Homer.
'We certainly intend to.'
'Don't look at me. I only lease the places.'
'We intend to get out an injunction against your leasing them.'
'You make the second one,' Homer informed him, annoyed.
'The second what?'
'The real estate boys sent a guy like you out here several weeks ago. He made a lot of threats and nothing's happened yet. He was bluffing, just like you.'
'Let me set your mind at rest,' said Fowler. 'I'm not doing any bluffing.'
He got up from his chair and stalked stiffly out.
