SEED CATALOGUES

Evening Post, Volume CIX, Issue 143, 20 June 1925, Page 16

SEED CATALOGUES

A.HUMOROUS INTERLUDE.

V':A% recent issue of the' ''Springfield Weekly .Republican " contains the following humorous story of a seed catalogue and its effect- on domestic happiness, written by George S. Chappel. The tales goes as follows :—

■ Jones, sank into, the seat beside mo 6n the, 8.12; om regular train from Perisvillo to work. His face was. pale, his eyes gloomy. Wheuj in a hollow. -voice he murmured, "It has come," I- folded my paper.' I knew that hero was a inaii with a, message, a human soul in pain, and, like the wedding guest buttonholed ■ by ■■ the Ancient Mariner, " I could not choose but hear." I put all the sympathy I could into the monosyllable, "What?" , " The seed catalogue," he groaned. In a flash I saw ' a hundred reasons for his distress. Jones and I as neighbours had . indulged in the friendly rivalry of simple, utilitarian gardening. We had competed in radish races, a favourite spring sport in Pensyille. Our .wives, laughing at us at first, had finally taken up horticulture and we became doomed men, slaves of the spade and trowel. Then one day after three weeks of neck-and-neck radish Tacing, 1 discovered to my dismay that Jones ' had cheated. Ho had transplanted radishes, from the vegetable man's store to his garden, and palmed them off as his own. A-coldness sprang up between us. But in the light of his present. suffering all this was forgotten. Our hands met in a grasp too deep for words. " When I got back last night," he continued, "'•' Laura had it spread out before her. Her eyes had that strange glitter you know. She stared at me and said, ' bulbosa.' ''My first impulse was to say, ' That is a sweet greeting for a husband returning' from a-tiring business trip,' but I thought better of it and tried to laugh it off by saying gaily, 'lobelia.' It was a fatal error.

"' Do you think so?' she said. ' They are lovely, but hard to raise. Still, if we started now—but just look at these bulbosa! They are divine.

" She pointed at' the page where the bulbosa was pictured with all the deceit of the seedman's art, a horrid-looking thing with a long under lip. ' Bulbosa multiflorans,' she -read, ' large yellow flowers, blooming continuously through July., and August.' But you must, see my plan for the new garden. We'll move the old one near the garage—there'salways been too much shade.there, and dig four new beds on the other side; we don't need the laundry yard space now that we send the wash out, and we can easily get those old poles up. Then we can build a cold-frame here, after we've moved the sand-box and . . ,"

•" She went on like a woman possessed; ' We can do this,' and ' We can do that.' We " Jones laughed a laugh that was not good to hear. "Do you know what that 'we.' means? It means me! It. means that,.my Saturday and Sunday golf is gone, and, all the sentiment of home, our drives and walks. She wants me to give her a load of fertiliser for her birthday ! It means that I am going to break my back digging 40-feet of new beds and then Laura is going to shake her head and say, 'I think we ought to move it a foot to the left; that side is' too near the

hedge.' "'.-".-'. . Jones buried his face in his hands before he looked up'gauntly and said, "and what almost maddens me is thel thought of the day when Laura will be showing someone the garden. I can'see it all now, and I can hear her say, ' and what I. love best about it all is that I did it all myself.' The day after that happens you will read in your paper, •' Pensville resident shoots wife and self.' "

1 saw that. I must rally him. "I'll come to the funeral," I said jocularly. " If you do," he answered solemnly, " I have only one request to make. For the love of Heaven please omit flowers."

I didn't have the heart to tell him that "the seed catalogue which had caused his: distress was one "which had come to my'house and' which I tossed on to his piazza on my way to the station.