The Toff on The Farm

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“Of course, what you ought to do is buy a farm,” declared Montagu Montmorency Morne, “Think what it would do for you. Fresh eggs and milk every morning, grow your own bacon in your own backyard, all kinds of juicy fruit straight from tree or bush into the consumer’s mouth. It’s the healthiest occupation ever thought of, and remember what it would do to your income tax.”

He paused; and beamed.

“What would it do to my income tax?” inquired the Honorable Richard Rollison, politely.

“Cut it in two, old boy. Halve it. Bound to. Slap all the cost of living down on the expense sheet. Don’t tell me you didn’t know. Buy the place, put in a manager, run it at a spanking loss, and set the loss against the old income from the family fortune, not to say the staggering fees from the profession, occupation or vocation of detecting. I just can’t understand,” declared Montagu Montmorency Morne with great solemnity, “why you’ve never thought of it before.”

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