My father and I had driven to a house somewhere in the country several kilometers from Portsmouth. The house was for sale, and we had come to see if it might be worth buying as an investment. When we arrived, the owner – a man named Mr. Johnson – met us in the front yard. He was probably in his mid 50s and was missing both legs from the knees down; but he was still able to walk around on the stumps.

Originally the front yard of the house had been covered with large white tiles; but about half the tiles had been pulled up and the black earth dug out underneath them. It looked as if something had tunneled around under the tiles causing the surface to cave in. I poked around in the dirt to see if the earth was now solid; it appeared to be so; the dirt simply needed to be replaced and the tiles put back in order.

As my father and I discussed what it would take to fix the front yard, he pulled out a book and leafed through it. He opened the book to a page filed with calculations that looked like calculus, and he excitedly told me it might be possible to get the government to fix the front yard for nothing. The suggestion caused me somewhat of a dilemma. I could tell Mr. Johnson about the government regulations and he could contact the government and thereby increase the value of his property. Or I could say nothing, and then we could buy the house and take advantage of the government policy. I wanted to help Mr. Johnson, but I decided it was in my best interest not to say anything to him.

By the time my father and I were ready to go inside and look around, Mr. Johnson had already walked in. We knocked on the door and he answered – completely naked. I tried to see the bottom of his legs to see what the stumps looked like. But the hallway where he greeted us was rather dark, and I couldn't see them clearly.

He guided us down a long hall to the back of the house, where we entered a large room with a ceiling about 25 high. A beautiful fireplace set in carved wood covered one whole side of the room. I immediately liked the room and the whole atmosphere; I mentioned to my father that this would make a nice retreat on the weekends. I might even want to buy the house myself. I thought Mr. Johnson was asking $20,000 for the house; but he seemed somewhat desperate and might go as low as $15,000. I might even get him down to $12,000.

As Mr. Johnson led us across the room, we passed by an elderly man sitting in a wooden rocking chair. Mr. Johnson indicated we should be quiet and not wake the man. As we continued past him without waking him, I thought that he must be Mr. Johnson's father, and that he was too feeble to get around.

Although I liked the room, it seemed rather dark inside, and I noticed a lack of windows. Plus the house had the feel of not having been kept in shape; it might need quite a few repairs. When I asked Mr. Johnson if the roof leaked anywhere, he said I would see for myself, and he showed me into another room.

This room was quite a mess. I could see where the roof had been leaking on one whole side of the room. The walls looked so flimsy I thought I could even see cracks into the outside. This room would require extensive repairs, and was in fact so bad, it might cost too much to repair to even make the house worth buying.

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