He unbolted the door and I followed him out, drawing a breath of the sweetly fragrant air as we stepped at once into the bright sunshine, where the flowers were blooming and the trees were putting forth their strength.
But I had no opportunity for looking about the garden, for Mr Solomon led the way at once to the stoke-holes down behind the glass-houses, rattled open the doors, and gave a stoke here with a great iron rod, and a poke there where the fires were caked together; while, without waiting to be asked, I seized upon the shovel I saw handy and threw on some coke.
“Far back as you can, my lad,” said Mr Solomon. “Seems a rum time of year to be having fires; but we’re obliged to keep up a little, specially on cloudy days.”
This done, he led the way into one of the sunken pits where the melons were growing, and after reaching in among them and snipping off a runner or two he routed out a slug and killed it.
Then turning to me:
“First thing in gardening, Grant, is to look out for your enemies. You’ll never beat them; all you can do is to keep ’em down. Now look here,” he said, picking off a melon leaf and holding it before me, “What’s the matter with that?”
“I don’t see much the matter,” I said, “only that the leaf looks specked a little with yellow, as if it was unhealthy.”
“Turn it over,” he said.
I did, and looked at it well.
“There are a few red specks on it—very small ones,” I said.