"The few little plants have a few little cysts all through their roots," said Bridget, whose temper was wearing thin. "I've only looked at one so far, but as nice an infestation of the golden nematode I've seldom seen. It's got to go down the incinerator."
"The incinerator!" screamed Maguire. "Woman! My shamrocks! All the way from Ireland!"
"If you hadn't spent your whole life circumventing regulations and pulling wires, this wouldn't have happened. Why didn't you get them treated and certified before coming aboard?"
"Because there wasn't time, that's why!" Patch shouted. "They only came from Ireland as I was leaving for the ship. If it hadn't been for a snooping, sniveling worry-wart—all about a worm that you can't even see...."
"You can see the results right enough!" Bridget's voice was rising to match his. "Did you ever hear of the Long Island potato? The best on the East Coast they were. The golden nematode ruined Long Island for potatoes. That's what the shamrock did for America! That's a sneaking, treacherous worm for you!"
"And who would want to grow potatoes on Long Island, built up into a city as it is?"
"They're going to want to grow potatoes on New Eden, and I'm here to see they can."
"If that's all that's worrying you, I'll breed you a nematode-resistant potato. And now I'll thank you to let me take my shamrocks and make an end to this disgraceful scene."
But when he looked around, he found the lieutenant had quietly removed himself with the plants, and the door of the cabin was crowded with interested passengers.