"Munson never wants to try things twice," said his father. "You'll have to watch him, or he'll leave that out, now." He nodded to the brilliant-pictured rose.
The boy's eye dwelt on it. "Looks worth trying for—several times," he said softly.
"It is," replied his father. "It's hardy and fragrant and prolific—I am going to have Miss Canfield go out home—to see the garden," he added irrelevantly.
The young man stood up. He looked at his father, a little bewildered, and then toward the door of the next room, where a white figure was flitting about at work.
"I want her to see the garden," went on Medfield. "She has excellent taste—and common sense. She can tell me what Munson's up to—this is just the season he needs watching. No telling what he'll do!"
"I see!" The young man turned over the pages of the Rotterdam catalogue slowly. He was absorbed in them.
"She's going to-morrow afternoon," said Medfield.
"Alone?"
"I suppose she'll go alone, yes—unless you want to spare time to take her," said Medfield carelessly.