“‘Going in for the Flower Show, Bob?’ ses Henery, with a wink at us.
“‘O’ course I am,’ ses Bob ’olding ’is’ ead up; ‘my marigolds ought to pull me through,’ he ses.
“Henery wouldn’t believe it at first, but when he saw Bob show ’is missus ‘ow to pat the path down with the back o’ the spade and hold the nails for ’er while she nailed a climbing nasturtium to the fence, he went off and fetched Bill Chambers and one or two others, and they all leaned over the fence breathing their ’ardest and a-saying of all the nasty things to Bob they could think of.
“‘It’s the best-kep’ garden in the place,’ ses Bob. ‘I ain’t afraid o’ your new way o’ cultivating flowers, Bill Chambers. Old-fashioned ways suit me best; I learnt ‘ow to grow flowers from my father.’
“‘You ain’t ’ad the cheek to give your name in, Bob?’ ses Sam Jones, staring.
“Bob didn’t answer ’im. Tick those bits o’ grass out o’ the path, old gal,’ he ses to ’is wife; ‘they look untidy, and untidiness I can’t abear.’
“He walked up and down smoking ’is pipe and pretending not to notice Henery Walker, wot ’ad moved farther along the fence, and was staring at some drabble-tailed-looking geraniums as if ’e’d seen ’em afore but wasn’t quite sure where.
“‘Admiring my geraniums, Henery?’ ses Bob at last.
“‘Where’d you get ’em?’ ses Henery, ’ardly able to speak.
“‘My florist’s,’ ses Bob, in a off-hand manner.