"You must see a doctor, mother."

"You can go and live in a fine, grand house if you like, Denry," said his mother. "But I'm staying here."

Actually, Denry was making nearly four thousand a year, but he was afraid to tell his mother that. These days he was a great man in the Five Towns, but his greatness was nothing in Brougham Street.

"It's a very good house. It was good enough for your father and it's good enough for me."

"Is that you, Denry?" came a tired voice.

"Yes," he said, walking into the living room.

"You've been ill a lot this winter," said Denry. "It's this awful old house we live in."

And so the battle went on. Denry wanted to move, but his mother refused to leave Brougham Street. And Denry wouldn't move to a new house without her.

"A doctor! What for? I've just got a bit of a cold, that's all."

Late one winter's evening a few years later, Denry opened the door of his mother's house in Brougham Street.

"Mother, I'm earning two thousand pounds a year! And here we are, living in an old house at a rent of twenty-three pence a week!"

His mother was sitting very near the fire, which was burning brightly. She looked cold and ill.

The next day Denry came home with some news.

One morning a few weeks later, there was a letter for Mrs Machin from the man who owned her house. He had sold the house, he wrote, to a man in London, a Mr Wilbraham. From next month Mrs Machin must pay her rent to him.

The house at Bleakridge started to grow. Mr Wilbraham stayed in London. The builder was Mr Cotterill (Denry had been friendly with the family since Llandudno), but Denry also kept an eye on things. The house was nearly finished when Mrs Machin got a second letter from Mr Wilbraham.

"I've met Mr Wilbraham, the man who bought our house. He came down from London. He wants me to collect the rents for him."

"I said yes. Why not? It's easier for you. And he's an interesting man. He's building a new house up at Bleakridge. It's going to be a really modern house; a house where you can live comfortably without servants."

"What did you tell him?"

"He says we have to leave," she cried. "He wants us out immediately. Oh Denry, what shall we do!"

"He's certainly a sensible man," answered Mrs Machin. She hated servants and said so about once a week.

"We'll go and see him," said Denry. "He's coming to his new house tonight!"

So they put on their best clothes and went up to Bleakridge. Half an hour later they were standing outside Mr Wilbraham's house. Denry rang the bell, and they waited.

"Of course," said Denry. He could see his mother liked the tap. "Wilbraham's fixed a lot of things like that in his house."

"Dirty doorstep," said Mrs Machin, looking down at it. In Brougham Street it was important to have a clean doorstep, even if your rent was only twenty-three pence a week.

"Easy to clean," said Denry. "Watch!" He turned a tap next to the doorstep, and water ran over the step, washing it.

"Is that hot water?" asked Mrs Machin.

"It's very warm in here," she said.

He rang again but there was no answer. "Perhaps his train's late. I've got a key. We'll go in and wait for him." He opened the door and turned on the electric light. Mrs Machin had never seen electric light before. She thought it was wonderful.

"Central heating," said Denry. "No fires to light, no wood to carry, no fireplaces to clean --"

Finally, they all sat down to supper, and after some food and three bottles of wine they started to enjoy themselves. Soon Denry was searching the house for a fourth bottle of wine. He found one, opened it, drank some, and, with a cry, dropped the glass on the floor, where it broke.

Three people stood on the washed doorstep -- Mr and Mrs Cotterill, and Nellie. Mr Wilbraham had invited them, said Mr Cotterill.

He and Nellie ran upstairs and the others followed. Upstairs the house was as wonderful as downstairs. So easy to clean. No work at all. "Why," said Mrs Cotterill, "I could live here without any servants and still have it clean and tidy by ten o'clock in the morning."

Downstairs they found a fine cold supper ready to eat.

"There he is!" said Denry, moving to the door.

Mrs Machin agreed.

"Oh, come in, come in!" said Denry. "He's not here. Perhaps he's missed his train. But the house is all ready for him. Come on, I'll show you round."

"Come on," said Denry. "Let's eat. I'm sure he'd like us to."

The doorbell rang.

"I don't think he can be mad," said Mrs Machin. "The house is much too sensible for a madman."

Mrs Machin didn't want to. "It's very strange that he isn't here," she said.

"He's a strange man," said Denry. "I think he's a little mad."

It was not wine. It was a bottle of cleaning liquid. And the word POISON was written on it in large letters. Nellie didn't seem to realize how serious it was, and began to laugh.

Mrs Machin took Denry's arm. "Come out to the kitchen," she said. "You must have some salt water, to make you sick."

"Oh no!" said Denry. "I'll be all right."

"I feel much too ill to walk home," he said. "I'll sleep here. The bedrooms are all ready. My mother can stay too."

But his mother wouldn't listen to him, and pulled him out of the room. Nellie had her hand over her mouth, trying very hard not to laugh, but not succeeding.

The Cotterills left and Denry went to bed. After an hour his mother went to bed, too, but she slept very badly.

Ten minutes later they returned. Denry looked very white, and very cross. "There's no danger now," said Mrs Machin.

So the party came to an end. The Cotterills stood up to leave, and asked Denry how he was feeling.

The next morning she was up before Denry and went out. Half an hour later she was back, waking Denry up.

Denry sat up.

"I'll tell you something now," he said. "Wilbraham's dead."

And Mrs Machin understood. This was all Denry's plan to move her out of Brougham Street and up to Bleakridge. Soon all Bursley knew that Denry had won the battle with his mother. And they loved it.

But at least Mrs Machin had won with the salt water.

"Oh, Denry! I've just been back home. They're pulling the house down. The roof's gone and the furniture…"

"Dead!"

"Dead. Well, he was never really alive, of course."