little gardening. He had discovered in the coal-hole an ancient fork, with
one prong broken and the others rusting away. This implement served him in
his slow, meditative attack on that part of the jungle which seemed to
offer least resistance. He would work for a quarter of an hour, then,
resting on his fork, contemplate the tangled mass of vegetation which he
had succeeded in tearing up.

'Our aim should be,' he said gravely, when Goldthorpe came to observe his
progress, 'to clear the soil round about those vegetables and flowers which
seem worth preserving. These broad-beans, for instance--they seem to be a
very fine sort. And the Jerusalem artichokes. I've been making inquiry
about the artichokes, and I'm told they are not ready to eat till the
autumn. The first frost is said to improve them. They're fine plants--very
fine plants.'

Already the garden had supplied them with occasional food, but they had to
confess that, for the most part, these wild vegetables lacked savour. The
artichokes, now shooting up into a leafy grove, were the great hope of the
future. It would be deplorable to quit the house before this tuber came to
maturity.

'The worst of it is,' remarked Mr. Spicer one day, when he was perspiring
freely, 'that I can't help thinking of how different it would be if this
garden was really my own. The fact is, Mr. Goldthorpe, I can't put much
heart into the work; no, I can't. The more I reflect, the more indignant I
become. Really now, Mr. Goldthorpe, speaking as an intellectual man, as a
man of imagination, could anything be more cruelly unjust than this
leasehold system? I assure you, it keeps me awake at night; it really
does.'