So was our romance killed. “Going round the corners,” was Walter’s sign that all conversation was closed.
If one followed him “round the corners,” talk as one might, Walter directed all his conversation to the flowers. To hear him address the plants in the green-house was to think him indeed a god, who by some magic spell turned the water in the can into a life-saving potion. To-day we think that much of the soliloquy was done for our especial benefit.
“Just a wee drop, my pretty,” he would say to some flower. “Just a drink with lunch. That’s right. Perk up now. By Gum, you do want your drop regular, you ’ardened teetotaler. Hello, hello, what’s up with you? Looks to me as if a snail had bided along o’ you too frequent.”
His great hand, covered with ancient scars, would lift the leaves tenderly, and search beneath for the offending snail which, when found, would be held up to view.
“Five-and-twenty tailors!” he would exclaim.
He would be instantly corrected. “Four-and-twenty.”
“You got your history wrong,” he used to say.
We repeated
Four-and-twenty tailors went to catch a snail,
And the best man among them dare not touch his tail.