“Everything that happened is written down. What it means — and who gains by your believing it — is another matter.” — Gurney’s Almanack, 1817

You have bought an old house with a worm in its timbers, and six months of the previous owner’s records: the infestation each fortnight, the weather, and how much tonic he applied. You have one season — twelve rounds — and a tin of the same tonic. The tonic may fight the worm or do nothing; if it fights, it may only bite in certain weathers; and it may be harsh on old wood. The timber itself may be sound, or slowly rotting of its own accord — and soft wood, they say, breeds worm. Four neighbours will read the record for you. Two of them have something to sell.

Three ends: the roof stands and the worm is beaten (a win); it stands but the worm remains (middling); or it comes down — to the worm, or to your own tonic. Weigh each voice by what it has to gain.