But above all, mind, a firm hand with the rhubarb.
XXIII. THE COMING OF THE CROCUS
"It's a bootiful day again, Sir," said my gardener, James, looking in at the study window.
"Bootiful, James, bootiful," I said, as I went on with my work.
"You might almost say as Spring was here at last, like."
"Cross your fingers quickly, James, and touch wood. Look here, I'll be out in a minute and give you some orders, but I'm very busy just now."
"Thought you'd like to know there's eleven crocuses in the front garden."
"Then send them away—we've got nothing for them."
"Crocuses," shouted James.