Then we stared at each other, for by his look I felt I had not understood, and by my words he made certain I had not.
Presently he tried me again.
"'Ave yer got a light?"
"Now what do you mean?" said I. "I've got boxes outside my window. There's as much light there as you'll get anywhere."
His look was not contemptuous, but it hurt me as if it were.
"A light," said he, slowly, "is a large box with lights to it—like a small green'ouse it is, for to force plants in. Open the lights in the daytime and they gets all the air they want. Close 'em at night and they don't get no frosts."
I understood at once; but had he said frames, I think I should have known sooner.
"Well, of course, I haven't got any," said I. "If I had I should have no place to put them in. I've just got a few window-boxes—that's all."
I think he did look at me contemptuously then. If he had had the seeds of sweet peas to sell he might have been more considerate, but dealing in no other plants save bulbs, he lost nothing by setting me to rights.
"'Ave yer ever tried growin' sweet peas in London?" he asked, "growin' 'em in winder-boxes?"