“You are always croaking about the nerves,” said Sir James; “but as I was saying—”
“Oh! go on, preach the orchard house down,” said the doctor, “I’ll listen.”
“I’m preaching it up, man,” said Sir James. “Given the matter of the orchard house, then, what next? Presuming that you have taken advantage of the possession of a south or south west wall already covered with trees, and against which you have placed glass roof and simple front and ends, all else necessary is to plant the space unoccupied by nailed-up trees moderately full of little bushes and standards.”
“I always thought peaches and nectarines ought to be nailed-up against walls till I saw yours,” said the doctor.
“Yes; if you like to torture them into that position; but they will grow and bear better like ordinary apple-trees or pears, only asking for abundant pruning, plenty of water, and freedom from insect plagues. If you prefer so doing, you may grow them in large pots, the same as you would camellias, and ornament your dining-table with a beautiful little eighteen-inch or two-feet high Early Louise peach, an Elruge nectarine, or Moor Park apricot, bearing its dozen or so of perfectly-shaped fruit. And to the man of frugal mind this has its advantages; for every one exclaims, ‘Oh, it would be a pity to pick them!’ and the dessert is saved.”
“My dear James, I shall never say that, I promise you.”
“You’re a humbug, Jack. Here we are, and all this place, asking you to run down and share some of its fruits, but you will never come. But to proceed. I think I shall write a pamphlet on this subject.”
“I would,” said the doctor, drily.
“I don’t care for your chaff, my boy. I want to see poor people refine their ways,—working-men growing vines, old ladies with orchard houses.”
“And I hope you may get it,” said the doctor.