“It seems to me quite impossible,” declared a little fat man with flaxen hair. “I am devoted to peach-growing, and I confess I am quite at a loss. Gardener, did you say that those peaches were grown entirely without artificial heat?”
The gardener pretended not to hear, and tried to slip away, but the little man, who had been taken on his hobby, was not to be baulked, and he pursued the wretched horticulturist.
“You mean to say that these peaches ripened without any artificial heat, any?”
“You have no idea what a sun we get here, sir. I have never seen anything like it. In my last situation, when I was living with Lord ——, we couldn't get our fruit forward, use whatever heat he might, and Houghton is not more than fifty miles from here—the difference of climate is positively wonderful.”
Jackson had reckoned that Mr. Berkins would move on, and that the inquisitive little man would find himself obliged to follow, but chance was against him, for Berkins, with his guests around him, stood listening to the discussion.
“You mean to say that these peaches were grown without heat. I wouldn't mind giving you five-and-twenty pounds for the recipe for doing it.”
“You must take a small place down here, sir, and then you will be able to do it.”
This raised a laugh, but the little man was not to be beaten, and he said: “I should like to see some of those peaches of yours on the trees. You haven't plucked them all; let me see them.”
“Yes, Jackson, show us the trees. Some will not believe without seeing; let us see the peaches on the trees.”
Jackson appeared to be a little disconcerted; he murmured excuses, and strove to escape. Driven to bay he brought them into a glass-house where there were hot water-pipes, and when his tormentor pointed triumphantly to the pipes he attempted a faint explanation—he had meant to say that heat had only been used within the last three weeks.