What you're born for is to grow flowers. You can't
afford to do it here, because nobody'll pay you for it,
but you gather up your seeds and roots and so on, and come
along with me to Atlanta, Georgia, and I'll put fat on
your bones.'
"That's what he said to me, and I took him at his word,
and I was with him two years, and then I thought I'd like to
come to England, and since then I've worked my way up here,
till now I take a Royal Horticultural medal regular,
and there's a clematis with salmon-coloured bars that'll
be in the market next spring that's named after my master.
And what could I ask more 'n that?"
"Quite right," said Thorpe. "What time do they have
breakfast here?"
The gardener's round, phlegmatic, florid countenance had
taken on a mild glow of animation during his narrative.
It relapsed into lethargy at the advent of this new topic.
"It seems to me they eat at all hours," he said.
"But if you want to see his Lordship," he went on,
considering, "about noon would be your best time."
"See his Lordship!" repeated Thorpe, with an impatient grin.
"Why I'm a guest here in the house. All I want is
something to eat."
"A guest," Gafferson repeated in turn, slowly. There was
nothing unpleasant in the intonation, and Thorpe's sharp
glance failed to detect any trace of offensive intention
in his companion's fatuous visage.
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