solid and practical with money in it; the public's always ready for
that. Take your neighbour, old Diggles, and his mushroom-beds, for
instance. Thriving local industry--capital copy. Try your hand at half
a column, and call it 'A Fortune in Fungus.'"

"I 'm afraid I know nothing about mushrooms, with the exception of the
one I nearly died of," I replied, "and I'm not sufficiently acquainted
with Mr. Diggles to venture to invite his confidence respecting his
business."

"My dear man, I don't ask you to tell Diggles you're going to write
him up in the newspapers; he'd kick you off the premises; he doesn't
want his secrets given away to competitors. Just dodge the old man
round the sheds, get into conversation with his staff, keep your
eyes open generally and you'll pick up as much as you want for half a
column. And when you've got your notes together bring 'em along to me.
I'll put 'em shipshape for you."

I thanked him very gratefully.

The mushroom-sheds are situated in a field some distance from my
residence, and I found it rather a fatiguing walk. After tedious
watching in a cramped position through a gap in the hedge I saw Mr.
Diggles emerge from a shed and move away from my direction. I lost
no time in creeping forward under cover of my umbrella towards an
employee, who was engaged in tossing manure. I drew out my note-book
and interrogated him briefly and briskly.

"Do you rear from seeds or from cuttings?" I asked him. He scratched
his head and appeared in doubt. "Are your plants self-supporting," I