“Because it’s only a common dead nettle,” said the curate, very softly, turning away wrath.
“But it’s ’ealthier and stronger and finer than any o’ them other flowers,” said she.
“Quite so—no doubt—you might expect that. These others are cultivated flowers, you see. This is only a common dead nettle.”
I saw the editor when I returned.
“No stuff worth having,” said I—disconsolately, for I was thinking of my few short lines.
“Nothing funny at all?” he asked.
“Nothing,” said I, and I told him about the red dead nettle.
“But I think that’s dammed funny,” he said.
“Do you?” I said.